


Slow Like Sunday Morning

by phantisma



Series: Abusive Steve [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-27
Updated: 2009-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Chris are together and things are more amazing than Chris could have hoped for, except that whenever Steve is there, Chris ends up banged up...and the more Steve is around, the more banged up Chris is...and the more drunk Steve is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Like Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP fic. Steve is an alcoholic who gets violent when drinking.

Early in the evening everything was relaxed. The boys ordered pizza and hung out in his living room picking and playing video games while he headed back to the set to finish up his day. He found them all just sort of kicking back when he got home.

It was nice to have them all together again, and Will was settling in nicely. Chris was able to let go of the tension that had followed him home from the set, the looks, the innuendo. Aldis was the first to make the joke, that Chris was acting like he was rushing off to meet a long lost lover, not his music partner. 

They were careful about it but it wasn't as if he was ashamed of what he had with Steve, it just wasn't anyone's damn business.

The guys knew...well Jason knew. Ryan suspected. Will, well, he'd figure it out fast enough. Chris settled in on the couch with his beer, leaning in to Steve who was way ahead of him in the beer department, and from the smell of his clothes he'd been smoking too, but he'd been there at home a lot longer too.

Jason was slaughtering Will on some game on the damn Playstation.

Steve put his arm around Chris, pulled him in close, kissed the top of his head. "Hey."

Chris leaned back into him more. "Hey yourself."

"Missed you."

Chris let his hand fall on Steve's thigh, rubbing it lightly as Steve's hand came over his shoulder onto his chest. Chris was vaguely aware of eyes on them, but at the moment, he was content. "Long day." He turned his face, eyes catching on Ryan's face, but Ryan looked away.

Steve kissed his cheek. "Mine," he whispered in Chris' ear. 

Chris turned toward him, catching his lips. "Yeah."

"Mine." Steve nodded to himself and laid back against the couch, holding Chris to his chest. It was quiet. Comfortable. 

It was so goddamn right that Chris felt his chest ache. He'd let himself believe he didn't need this…Steve, the guys, the music. Let himself think he could do it on his own. But this was so much like home, he almost couldn't breathe.

It was perfect.

And when the boys had all gone off to their hotels, and it was just Chris and Steve, and the barriers of clothing and watching eyes fell away Chris was going to show Steve exactly how much they had to make up for…and spend the whole night re-acquainting himself with Steve's body.

It meant dragging himself in to work the next day, hungover and exhausted, but Chris didn't care. Everything was back the way it was supposed to be. Steve was with him, the boys were together, they were making music and he was happier than he could remember being in a really, really long time.

That first weekend was amazing. Rehearsal went really well and led to drinking, and challenges of dexterity, and it was well after midnight when Chris finally dragged Steve out of there, because Chris had an early call, and they had a show the next night.

So, the first time Steve hit him, it didn't count. Not really.

It was an accident. They were both tired and cranky and half drunk and bickering over nothing and Chris was in the way and Steve was talking with his hands and it wasn't really a punch so much as his arm flying out and his closed hand connecting with Christian's face.

That's what Chris told everyone when he showed up with the start of a shiner on set, with a laugh about ducking and Steve's girly hands to go with it.

And they believed him. Because he was Christian Kane, and he knew how to handle himself, and no one was going to believe that anyone hit the man and didn't get pummeled into the ground.

Steve really didn't even realize how hard the hit had been until Chris came back from work that afternoon and took a shower to start getting ready for the show. Chris was just checking out the bruising in the bathroom mirror when Steve ambled in for his own turn in the shower.

"What happened?" Steve's voice was soft, his fingers softer as they tilted Christian's face toward him, brushing lightly over the bruising.

Chris pulled away and shook his head. "It's nothing."

"You do that on set?"

Chris frowned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "No, this is from last night."

"Last night?" Steve clearly didn't remember.

"You flailed, I didn't get out of the way." Chris shook his head and dried his face on a hand towel. "Told you, it's nothing."

"I'm sorry...I was so tired last night and Ryan gave me that tequila. I don't even remember getting back from rehearsal."

Chris frowned all the harder, even though it hurt his eye. "You weren't that drunk."

"Just tired. I'm fine now." Steve's arms slid around his waist and drew him in close. "Let me make it up to you?"

"Yeah? How?" Chris let himself get distracted by the light, teasing kisses as Steve started walking them out of the bathroom.

"We got time before we need to get to the club...and I should really take a look at that...kiss it better...and then check every other inch of you to make sure you're okay."

Chris let it go. It didn't count. Didn't matter. It was nothing. 

Steve pulled him back into the bedroom, hands knocking the towel covering Christian's lower body away, touching, teasing until Chris is hard and then pushing him down onto the unmade bed.

Steve's lips started at his eye, kissing all around the tender bruise and down, over his chin, neck, onto his chest. Chris was just about to protest the slow, teasing pace when Steve surrounded his cock with wet heat and started humming around him. 

That was enough to have Chris thrusting up, his hips leaving the bed until Steve's hands pressed him back down. "No cheating." Steve said, chuckling a little as he dropped his face down to the side of Chris' cock, nuzzling the skin, nipping tiny bites down to his balls.

"Fuck, Steve…" Chris reached for him, hand tangling in his hair and tugging him toward his cock. 

"Eager?" His voice rumbled against Chris' skin, making him groan. "Want something?"

"Don't have all night, stop teasing!" Chris growled.

Steve chuckled again, but closed his mouth over his cock, sucking in as he moved, slowly taking more and more of him into his mouth. Chris could feel it coming. Steve's thumbs bit into his hips, leaving smudges of red that would blacken before the night was over. He moved faster, his head bobbing now as he pulled Chris closer and closer to the edge. Chris gritted his teeth as he came, pressing up against Steve's hands, the burn of his skin bruising adding to the sensation as he filled Steve's mouth.

Steve licked at him until Chris pulled him away. Steve stood up, grinning down at him. "I think you'll be fine."

"Huh?" Chris pushed up on his elbows, forgetting Steve was "checking him over". 

The phone rang beside him and Chris leaned for it while Steve started pulling off his shirt. "Hey…yeah, no, we're almost ready." Chris said in response to Ryan on the phone. "Half hour."

He hung up and looked up to find Steve undressed and heading out the bedroom door. "Need to shower. Give me five."

Chris slid out of bed and headed for clothes. He almost wished he could get one of the make-up girls to come to the club and cover up the bruise for him. It was their first show together in a long, long time and he wanted it to be perfect.

Especially because they didn't know what to expect for an audience. He pulled on jeans and rummaged around trying to decide on a shirt while Steve showered. Half hour, and the club was a good twenty minutes away. They had to do sound check, then they should have time to grab some food.

He'd invited Tim and the cast to come out, and he knew Aldis would be there. He was nervous, and that didn't used to happen. Obviously he was out of practice. 

His hair was a mess of curls, and he was out of time to try to tame them as Steve darted in to get dressed. "Lets get going before the guys start without us." Steve said, shoving his feet into shoes.

They grabbed guitars and headed for the door. It was show time.

 

The second time Steve hit him, it wasn't as much an accident, not quite as easy to blow off. There was a lot of tequila and beer. The show had been wild, the club packed, and after it took a lot to come down. It was him and Aldis and Steve and a bottle of tequila and a bottle of Jack and they were all more than a little bit drunk.

Aldis was laughing uncontrollably about something, leaning against Chris when Chris felt Steve's eyes. They were flashing angrily in his direction. Chris blinked and Steve had looked away, but he felt it still them.

"Get off me man." Chris said, pushing Aldis away. 

"Oh, I'm cramping your style now?" Aldis asked, laughing at himself.

"You're cramping something." Chris responded, standing and letting Aldis slide down to the couch. "I gotta pee."

He bounced off the walls some on his way to the bathroom, still trying to figure out what had pissed Steve off. He took a leak and flushed, opening the bathroom door to find Steve standing there, his eyes angry. He grabbed Chris and shoved him into the wall. "You told me you weren't fucking any of them." 

His voice was deep, the words slurring with the alcohol.

"I'm not, man, what?"

Steve's fist swung out and slammed into Christian's face. "Don't fucking lie to me."

Chris caught his hand before he could hit him again. "Not lying Steve. I'm not sleeping with anyone but you. Love you."

The anger softened and Steve backed off a step. He sagged against the opposite wall and rubbed a hand over his face. "Man, I'm fucked up."

Chris was a lot more sober than he'd been just moments before, adrenaline coursing through him. "Lets get you to bed then. You've got a flight out in the morning."

Aldis was passed out on the couch, and Steve crashed fast once Chris got some aspirin and some water into him and helped him to the bed. Chris sat on his side of the bed, rubbing at the spot on his jaw where Steve's punch had landed.

He'd never seen Steve like that. Drunk, sure. That he'd seen plenty. But this was…different somehow. Chris laid down and closed his eyes. He was pretty sure it was just the alcohol and adrenaline and getting back together like this after so long apart.

He would have to make sure he showed Steve how much he loved him, how much Steve meant to him, prove to him that Chris only had eyes for him, as stupid and cliché as that sounded. And he had just over two weeks to figure out exactly how to do that.

 

The next time it happened, Steve got off the plane smelling like beer, and Chris had had a long day on set, and still had another two hours of work to do. "You mind hanging at the set with me for a bit?" Chris asked nervously as he pulled out of the airport.

"Why?" Steve asked, frowning at him.

"Got to shoot a night scene with Tim. I can drop you at my place instead if you want. I'll only be a few hours."

"No, man, it's fine." Steve stretched and put a hand on his thigh. "You know I like to watch you work."

Still, the air in the truck was tense as Chris parked and climbed out. "I gotta change."

"I'll hang here."

Chris left Steve and darted into his trailer to change back into Eliot's clothes. When he came out Steve and Aldis were talking. Tim was beckoning Chris toward makeup. Chris tapped Steve's shoulder. "Make up."

"I'll take him up to a good viewing spot for the scene." Aldis said as Chris ducked around a piece of moving scenery and headed out to meet Tim. "You ready?"

"Me? You're the one who went running out of here to go pick up your band." Tim smirked and dropped into one of the chairs for a touch up. 

"Just Steve. Ryan and Jason are flying in in the morning." Chris corrected.

"You guys want to grab some dinner after we finish up?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." Chris said, smiling at the girl who was finishing up his make up. 

"Lets get through this seen then."

Chris could feel Steve's eyes on him through the whole thing and the couple of times he actually looked, Steve looked angry, though Chris couldn't place any reason for it. 

When it was over and they were done, Chris found Steve and Aldis laughing together over something. "Hey, just let me change. I'll meet you in the parking lot." Tim said as he headed for his trailer.

"No sweat." Chris headed for his trailer, Steve following him.

"What was that about?"

"Tim invited us to go get something to eat."

"What if I don't want to?"

Chris turned to look at him, but Steve just shook his head. "Sorry, man. I'm tired and I was hoping it would just be us tonight."

Chris pulled Steve into the trailer, closing the door and pressing him into it. "As soon as we get home it will be…just you and me…and no early call times…no reason to get out of bed until the boys roll in…we can take our time and fuck each other's brains out."

"I like the sound of that." Steve's mouth chased after his until Chris let himself be caught, the kiss messy and hard. 

"I need to change, wash up. Gimme a few minutes."

Dinner was accompanied by a bottle of wine, and then beer…and they followed it up with a stop at a bar around the corner from Chris' apartment where there were shots of tequila and Chris was more than a little tipsy when he got down from his bar stool and fell into Tim.

He was laughing and trying to get his feet under him when Steve fell into him, dropping them both to the ground. Steve's elbow landed in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Mine." Steve growled…or Chris thought he heard Steve growl before Tim was helping them up.

"I think that's our cue to call it a night." Tim said jovially, gesturing to the door as he dropped a twenty on the bar. 

They stumbled out into the night, Steve quiet and scowling. He had a death grip on Chris' elbow as Tim got into a cab. "Come on." Chris got them turned for home. Together they stumbled up the stairs and into the apartment, shedding clothes as they went until they were both naked as they hit the bedroom. 

Steve was still quiet, his hands hard as he pushed Chris onto the bed. He didn't gentle, not even when Chris yelled because his grip was too tight and his fingers bruising. There was no banter, no playful foreplay. There was just Steve, pushing Chris face first into the bed and fucking into him with too little prep and not enough warning. 

It was almost like he was being claimed. Steve grunted as he came, then fell off and rolled over. Chris didn't know what to make of any of it. He turned off the light and laid down beside Steve, not touching, not really moving. Just staring at the ceiling and wondering what in the fuck had gotten into Steve. Somewhere in the long hours between then and dawn, Chris dozed off and when he woke, Steve was spooned around him, head on Chris' shoulder, legs twined around his.

"Feels good." Steve murmured when he realized Chris was awake. "Like Sunday morning."

"Except it's Saturday." Chris responded dryly. 

"Still feels good." Steve lifted his head, shaking blond hair out of his eyes. "I like waking up next to you. Makes the whole day better."

Chris exhaled slowly and nodded, relaxing into the warm feeling of a lazy day spent in bed with Steve…like they used to do back before the world got crazy on them. "Yeah…it does." His stomach rumbled and Steve chuckled, sitting up.

"Pancakes." 

"What?" Chris reached for him, but Steve was already pulling on a robe that Chris had left at the end of the bed. "I’m gonna make you pancakes. Stay there."

"I'll help." Chris started to get up, but Steve shook his head and leaned in to kiss Chris, all soft and gentle and warm. 

"No…I want to make you breakfast in bed, and then I want to lick you all over and make you remember what lazy Sunday mornings are for."

"It's still Saturday." Chris whispered, but he surrendered, laying back on the pillows and listening to Steve in the kitchen. It had been a long time since he'd had breakfast in bed. Longer still since it had been Steve that made it for him. 

It didn't take long for him to start smelling coffee and butter melting. Chris closed his eyes and let himself drift on the warm feeling. For a long time he'd wondered if he'd ever get this back…this comfortable place where it was Chris and Steve, and the outside world could just disappear as long as they were together and had their music.

Steve was right. Slow, like Sunday morning. Nothing else mattered when it was just the two of them.

 

"It's nothing." Chris turned away and pulled his shirt down. "I'm fine."

"That's not nothing." Tim insisted, reaching for the hem of his shirt and tugging up until Chris slapped his hand away. "That...looks like a broken rib."

Chris sighed and leaned against the table in his trailer. He hadn't meant anyone to see it, and if Tim had ever learned to knock before opening a door, no one would have. He had the next few days off and the bruising would be mostly gone by the time he had to be back on set.

"It ain't broken, just bruised. And it's fine. I'm fine."

Tim was frowning at him, arms crossed. "What did it this time?"

Chris pulled a hand through his hair, forced himself not to wince even though it fucking hurt and sighed again. "Stupidity? Exhaustion? Take your pick."

"You going to tell me or do I have to stand here all night staring at you?"

Chris wanted to shove him out of the way, wanted to tell him to let it be, that it was nothing, that Steve was waiting...but he didn't. He just hung his head and told the story.

"Steve's plane was late, I waited at the damn airport for two hours, and I had a few drinks. By the time we got back to the apartment I was feeling it, and we were horsing around. Some kid left some toys on the walk..." He shook his head. "Stupid, tired...probably would have been worse if Steve hadn't caught me before my damn head hit the rail." 

The whole truth was a little darker than that, though everything he said was true. Steve had been in a foul mood, and nothing Chris did on the way back to the apartment helped. By the time they were walking up to the stairs, Chris was pissed and he'd been provoking Steve, trying to get something more than two words out of him.

What he'd gotten wasn't words.

Tim was squinting at him and Chris couldn't tell what he was thinking, then suddenly he just nodded and stood. "You headed home?"

"Yeah, promised Steve I'd be home for dinner. He's cooking." Chris didn't want to say that he didn't want to piss Steve off again with being late. What he saw the night before was still sitting pretty heavy inside him, and all he wanted was to make it okay. 

"Let me give you a lift."

Chris frowned. "I got my truck." And showing up with Tim would be one way to set Steve off. He'd been working double time to convince Steve that Chris wasn't fooling around with anyone.

Tim opened the door of the trailer and stepped out before turning to look at Chris. "I want you to promise me something, Christian."

"Man, anything. You know that." Chris followed him out, stopping to lock the door before he turned back.

Tim laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. "You call me, anytime, anyplace, day or night. Anytime, you get me?"

Chris felt himself blushing and pulled away, nodding haphazardly and trying to look indignant. "Seriously? I'm not some charity case, Hutton." 

He stalked away, hands shoved in his pockets to hide the way they were shaking and stopped once he was out of sight to drag air into his lungs. It wasn't like he was some fucking battered woman.

He was Christian Fucking Kane, and he could damn well take care of himself.

Except that he hadn't. Not once. He told himself it was because he could really hurt Steve. He was the one who had training. He was the one who knew how to fight. Steve was just lashing out in pain. He was still stinging from the way they'd left things before…when Chris headed to Nashville without him. 

Steve hadn't let go of it yet, hadn't totally forgiven him, and that was okay. Chris could understand it. Steve didn't completely trust him not to fuck this up again…and Chris was going to do whatever it took to make sure he didn't. Even if that meant taking the brunt of his anger sometimes.

A few bruises were nothing after the way he hurt the man who mattered the most to him. 

 

"He's going to be here any minute." Steve said, pulling a beer out of the fridge and popping the top. He checked the clock again and crossed to the stove, opening the oven to check on his roast.

"I'm almost done." Jensen responded, looking up from the cake he was attempting to frost.

Steve couldn't help laughing at the site of Jensen Ackles sitting in Chris' kitchen with chocolate frosting on his nose. "Dude, you're a mess." He tossed a towel at him, then turned as he heard Chris at the door. "He's here." He put his beer on the counter and went out to greet him. "Hey."

"Hey." Chris dropped his keys, but didn't look up. 

Steve moved in, sliding his hands over Chris' hips. "How was your day?"

"Long." Chris said, his eyes flicking up and away.

"You okay?"

Chris shook his head and seemed to pull himself together, kissing Steve's lips lightly. "Yeah. Tired."

"Well, you better wake up, because we are taking you out."

"We?" Chris frowned at him. "Out…what? You said dinner."

Steve nodded, grinning. "Dinner's in the oven. After we eat, we are taking my birthday boy out."

Chris' eyes lit up in realization and he nodded. "My birthday is two days away…and we have to get the guys early tomorrow."

"So we won't be late." Jensen said from the doorway to the kitchen, making Chris look up.

Chris pulled away and crossed to Jensen. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Surprise." Jensen said, smirking as Chris grabbed him into a hug. "I called Steve last week, said Danneel and I were headed this way. Thought we could stop and take you out."

"Danneel's here?"

"Actually, not right now…she had a headache." 

"Guys night." Steve said, moving past them. He downed the last of his beer and started to set the table. Chris didn't seem all that interested, but Steve knew that once they got him out, he'd enjoy himself. He always did.

"Seriously, I'm wiped out." Chris said. "You made me cake?"

"He even let me frost it." Jensen said playfully, running a finger through the frosting and sticking it in Chris' face. When Chris didn't respond, Jensen licked it clean and looked at Steve. 

"Why don't you go change." Steve offered. "Dinner's almost ready."

Chris nodded and walked away. Steve sighed. "See what I mean?"

Jensen nodded. "I haven't seen him like that before. What's bugging him?"

Steve shook his head. "Hell if I know. When I ask he just tells me he's fine."

"You two are…" Jensen rolled his eyes and smirked. "I mean, back to normal in the bedroom?"

Steve nodded as he pulled the roast out of the oven. "Better than ever, actually. But whenever we aren't on stage or in bed, he's like that. Depressed or something."

"Maybe he's just tired. I mean shooting a series can take a lot out of you, and then to add the shows and rehearsals…"

Steve realized it was a lot and Chris was a physical guy, went all out at everything he did. "Maybe. I just…I'm worried."

Jensen pulled three beers out of the fridge and put them on the table. "Okay, so maybe we stay in instead of taking him out?"

Steve really wanted to go out, but they had a bottle of Jack in the cupboard and at least at home they could relax and not have to hide who they were. "Yeah, okay. I'll go let him know. You finish this." 

"Hey." Chris looked up from where he sat on the end of the bed. Steve smiled softly and knelt in front of him, running his hands up Chris' thighs. "You win, we'll stay in tonight…have you in bed early."

Chris leaned in to him, kissing Steve softly. "Thank you. I just don't have it in me tonight."

"Hey, you sure you're okay?"

"I'm good. Just let me change my shirt. It smells like smoke from the set." 

Steve stood and pulled Chris up with him. "You could just take it off, let me ogle you through dinner."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Jen would love that." He walked away, pulling his shirt up and off and tossing it into the corner.

"Ow." Steve murmured as his eyes caught on the bruising on Chris' ribs. He let one hand glide over the bruise as his eyes skipped up to Chris' eyes in the mirror.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." Chris answered, looking away. 

Steve had gotten used to the idea that Chris was a rough and tumble guy who refused to let anyone do his stunts and bruises and injuries came as part of the package. 

"If you two are having sex in there, I'm starting dinner without you." Jensen called and Steve kissed Chris on the shoulder.

"I'll be out in a minute." Chris said, leaning back to grab a quick kiss.

"Okay." Steve left him to pull on a clean shirt and went to serve dinner. With any luck, having Jensen around for the weekend would help Steve pull Chris out of his funk.

 

It took three beers for Chris to start to loosen up, and then the bottle of Jack came out as they moved from the kitchen into the living room. It was inevitable with the three of them in one room that guitars would come out, and the bottle would get passed around, and it didn't take long after that for the alcohol to burn away the cautious fear.

Chris relaxed next to Steve on the couch as Steve and Jensen played. Steve was mellow, his eyes closed as he strummed. Chris cradled the bottle in his hands. This was familiar and comfortable. The way it used to be.

The way he wanted it to be forever. He closed his eyes and let the music move through him. He felt the bottle lift and opened his eyes. He hadn't realized they'd stopped playing, or that he'd dozed off. Steve smiled down at him indulgently. "Jensen's heading back to his hotel."

Chris inhaled and stretched before he let Steve pull him up off the couch. He hugged his friend tight and held on for a minute before pulling back. "You should sing with us Sunday. It'll be good."

"Maybe." Jensen agreed. "Get some sleep. You look like you need it."

Chris nodded. "I will."

Steve walked Jensen to the door, locking it behind him. "You need to go to bed." Steve said.

"Not gonna argue." Chris picked his way around the guitars and headed for the bedroom, already shedding clothes. 

"I'll get the guys in the morning. I want you to sleep." Steve kicked off his shoes and went to adjust the blankets.

"I'm not an invalid, Steve, I can get up with you."

"No." 

Chris shivered at the tone in his voice. 

Steve came and pulled him close. "You're exhausted all the time. You need to rest. I don't want you getting sick…or hurt." His hand rubbed over the bruises on Chris' ribs. "I mean it. You're not getting out of bed until rehearsal."

That sounded so good, Chris wasn't really inclined to argue beyond what he had already. He let Steve pull him toward the bed. "Okay, fine. I'll sleep and stay in bed until rehearsal…but it will be sad and lonely all by myself."

Steve grinned into the skin of his neck as they fell together to the mattress. "I never said you had to be alone…I can drop them off at their hotel and come home to keep you company."

Chris pressed back against him, half wanting to start something, but his body was dragging him toward sleep instead, and Steve's soft murmuring in his ear lulled him the rest of the way down.

 

The rehearsal space was buzzing with energy as they finished rehearsal with Jensen jumping in to sing along on a couple of songs. Steve was smoking on his guitar, grinning from ear to ear through the whole time they were on stage. 

Chris left Jason and Steve jamming and headed for the bar, grabbing a beer before settling into a chair at one of the tables. Jensen joined him, bringing his own bottle of beer and watching the guitars sizzle on stage. "You guys sound really good."

Chris hears the "again" and the "finally" that Jensen doesn't say. He knows that their last gigs before the break had been…less than spectacular. The stress between him and Steve had bled out into everything. "Steve's playing like he's possessed." Chris acknowledged, lifting his beer.

"They both are." Jensen watched them for a minute, leaning forward, then ever so slightly leaning toward Chris. "He's worried about you." Jensen's eyes flicked up to his and held. "Should I be?"

"Worried?" Chris frowned and shook his head. "What about?"

Jensen lifted an eyebrow. "Says you've been depressed, quiet. That you don't sleep enough and you don't eat well and that every time he sees you you've got more bruises."

Chris bristled at the insinuation, like somehow he was to blame. Though maybe he was. He shook his head and took a long drink from his bottle. "You know me, work hard, play harder. I'm fine."

Jensen's eyes narrowed and for a minute, Chris was sure he'd see through the half truth. "You'd tell me, right?" Jensen asked.

"Tell you what?" Chris asked, his eyes tracking to where Steve was, head thrown back as he played.

"If something was really wrong?"

Chris blinked at suddenly burning eyes and nodded, swallowing as he glanced at Jensen. "Course. But nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Steve and I are fine. The show is great. The music's even better. I've never been happier."

Jensen nodded slowly. "You know, they have stunt people for a reason, right?"

He was looking at Chris differently now, his eyes on Chris' shirt, right where the bruising was. "Steve told me you look like you got broken ribs."

"They're not broken." Chris said a little more defensively than he meant to. He sighed and picked at the label on his beer. 

"I'm just saying…somewhere along the line you're gonna get really hurt. You don't need to keep proving yourself, okay? Everyone knows you're tough." Jensen sat back and lifted his beer to his lips.

"It isn't about being tough. It's about doing the job." Chris replied, settling back himself. This was somehow safer territory, two actors talking about the job. 

"Well, the job shouldn't send you to the ER every week. That's all I'm saying."

Chris sighed and looked up as Steve laughed and set his guitar aside. "I know. I know. I'll be more careful, okay?"

Jensen smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's all I'm getting at." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, it's Jeff."

"You still playing with him?"

"Whenever I can." Jensen said, flipping the phone open. "Hey, Jeff. Let me get outside."

Chris watched him go, shaking his head. He'd never understand the way Jensen could flip from Danneel to Jeff and back again…or how Danneel and Jeff could let him. 

"Where's he going?" Steve asked as he straddled the chair next to him.

"Jeff called."

Steve chuckled and stole a sip of Chris' beer. "Then we've lost him for the night. He's probably in the alley having phone sex."

"I did not want that image in my head, thanks." Chris pushed him playfully away and stole his beer back. He tossed off the last of it and stood. "We should get packed up before we get drunk…because when we do it after, things get broken."

Steve chuckled and stood, following Chris back to the stage where Ryan was already half way through breaking down so they could haul everything to Dante's the next night. "Tell me again why we don't have roadies?" Jason asked as they packed up.

"Because we can't afford to pay them?" Ryan said, looking up. "Unless you're giving up your take to pay them?"

"Not likely. We should just get some of the fangirls to do it." Jason laughed. "Wouldn't even need to pay them."

Chris let the banter wash over him, taking his guitar case down to the side door. As Steve came off stage with his, Chris stuck a finger in Steve's pocket and turned him so that he could press Steve into the wall. He kissed him slow and wet, slowly sliding them both into the shadows just off stage.

"Mmmm…what was that for?" Steve asked when Chris let him breathe again.

"Watching you up there tonight…god I love when you play." Chris whispered, kissing over his jaw and nuzzling into his neck. "Missed this."

Chris wanted to get down on his knees and suck Steve into his mouth, right there. As if reading his mind, Steve turned them so Chris was pressed into the wall. "Better to wait until we're home. Eyes."

Chris shook his head. His hands caressed over Steve's chest and up to his face. "Don't care."

Steve actually stepped back, grabbing his hands. "Yes, you do." He was frowning, which was the exact opposite of what Chris had been looking for. Chris pulled Steve back with his fingers still in Steve's front pocket and kissed him again.

"I want you."

Steve actually chuckled into his mouth. "And I want you…god I want you so much…but we can't…not here."

Chris gave in, because of course, he was right. He let go of the feeling in his chest, the tight clenching that felt like rejection and smirked. "Your loss, I was going to give you the best blow job of your life." Chris ducked out under his arm and went to give Jensen hell over his dirty phone call.

 

It was a good show, the house was packed, Steve and Jason wailed away on their guitars, Jensen came up to sing with them, which made the fangirls scream all the louder.

Chris was happy. His face hurt from grinning. Aldis and Tim showed, and Chris introduced Jensen and Danneel. They all headed back for Chris' apartment to keep the party going. The lot of them ended up together, sharing a bottle of Jack long after the rest of the band had cleared out and headed for their beds. 

Steve was in a corner laughing with Danneel. Jensen and Aldis were telling each other stories. That left Chris and Tim sitting together. Chris was fairly well drunk and had actually switched to drinking water in an attempt to not fall over and pass out. 

Tim was peeling the label off his beer, his eyes flashing to Steve and back to Chris. "What?" Chris asked belligerently.

"Nothing. I find your relationship with Steve to be…interesting."

"Interesting?" Chris made a face and looked over his shoulder at Steve. "Why, cause you didn't figure me for being into guys?"

Tim shrugged a little. "Well, that's part of it, I won't lie. You clearly love women."

Chris nodded. "Hell, yeah. What's not to love?"

"And yet…" He gestured at Steve.

Chris smirked and nodded. "And yet. He's…talented and beautiful and he gets me. Like nobody else ever has."

"You love him." Tim said, and it wasn't a question, just a simple observation.

Chris nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling a lot less drunk than he had been. "Completely."

"You're always so excited for him to get here." Tim's eyes were following Steve as he crossed to the kitchen. "And so down when he leaves." His eyes were narrow now, looking into Chris.

"He's my best friend and my lover and my partner." Chris swallowed down more of his water and cleared his throat. "What are you getting at?"

Tim shook his head and set his beer aside. "Nothing." He stood, adjusting his pants before smiling. "I should go. Just because you have tomorrow off doesn't mean the rest of us do."

Chris stood, discovering where all the alcohol had gone as his knees wobbled and he reached out for Tim. Hands steadied him and Tim's face swam in front of him.

"Looks like maybe it's time the birthday boy was in bed."

Suddenly Steve was behind him, hands on his arms, tight, hard. "I've got him." 

Tim ignored Steve, his eyes catching on Chris' eyes. "You okay?"

There seemed to be a hundred layers in the question and Chris nodded, stepping back into Steve to ease the pressure of his fingers as they dug into muscle. "Drunk. Way drunk." Chris shook his head.

Tim nodded. "Sleep it off. I'll see you Tuesday. Aldis." Tim waved as he headed for the door. Steve's hands didn't loosen up as Aldis called after Tim and told him to wait up.

"Hey man." 

Chris pulled free when it was clear Aldis was coming in for a hug, and Steve's hand moved to his back, fisting in his shirt. "Thanks for being here." Chris said, thumping Aldis on the back and pulling back into Steve.

When Aldis was gone after Tim, Steve seemed to relax, letting go and letting Chris fall back onto the couch. "I found the tequila." Steve said, holding up the bottle. 

Both Danneel and Jensen shook their heads and held up hands. "I think I've had enough." Jensen said. "I have a plane to catch in the morning."

"It's early." Steve protested, squinting at the clock which clearly declared it wasn't early. It was almost 3am.

"Dude…I'm not a musician. I don't have the luxury of sleeping until noon." Jensen pulled Steve into a hug. "I'll see you in a few weeks anyway."

"Right…Vancouver." Steve opened the bottle and took a long swallow. Jensen moved to sink next to Chris on the couch.

"You are wasted." Jensen said, smirking.

"I am." Chris agreed. "I need my bed."

Jensen leaned in to hug him, then stood. "Take care of this clown, eh, Steve? Make sure he doesn't…crack his head open or something."

Chris was only vaguely aware of them leaving. The alcohol in his body was heavy, thick…it slowed everything down and made it stretch out around him. He blinked and turned when the couch dipped beside him. Steve was talking, but he couldn't make sense of the words.

There was a bottle waving in front of his face, the smell of tequila, and his stomach lurched. "No…ugh."

The bottle came down on his thigh, and he thought it should maybe hurt, but he was mostly aware of his stomach. He struggled up, made for the bathroom, throwing up almost before he reached the toilet.

When he was done, he found Steve standing over him, the bottle still in one hand, a towel in the other. Chris climbed to his feet and took the towel. "I need to crash."

He stumbled past Steve, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his jeans before he fell into bed. He reached for Steve, wanting the comfort of having him there. "Com'ere." Chris mumbled.

Steve set the tequila bottle on the nightstand and dropped his own jeans, crawling over Chris and falling to the bed with one arm and one leg still draped over him.

Darkness settled over him and the drunk pulled him down fast.

He woke sometime later, falling out of dreams of sex and fury to Steve on top of him, inside him, cursing and fucking and Chris yelled in his confusion, trying to pull away. 

"Promised me." Steve muttered, grabbing Chris' hands as he tried to push Steve off. "Fucking promised me."

Chris settled as he realized where he was and what was happening, tried to relax to enjoy it, but Steve wasn't being gentle. He leaned in, nipping at Chris' lips and rubbing stubble along his chest. "Mine." Steve growled.

Chris pulled, trying to get his hands free and Steve responded by slamming them up over his head, the left one smashing into the headboard. Chris yelled and arched up, shifting the angle that Steve's cock was penetrating him. Pain bled away into pleasure as Steve's thrust pressed into his prostate and Chris' cock responded, hardening quickly.

"Steve." Chris gasped out his name, still struggling to get his hands free, wanting to touch him, to give back some of what he's getting. 

Steve's head fell back as he came, his grip loosening as he panted and eased back, looking down at Chris with dark eyes. His hands slid down Chris' chest and over his stomach, circling his cock.

Chris reached for him, grabbing his wrist as Steve jacked him, hard and slow. "Mine." Steve growled again.

"Always." Chris responded, his body tensing as he came, spilling out over his stomach.

Steve grabbed the bottle from the nightstand and staggered away. When he didn't come back in a few minutes, Chris pulled himself up, groaning with the effort and the banging in his head. He stumbled to the bathroom to pee and clean up his stomach. He squinted at himself in the mirror, then pulled out the aspirin, swallowing two with warm tap water.

Steve was in the living room nursing the bottle and messing with his guitar. Chris left him to it, crawling back into bed and praying he managed to sleep off the worst of the hangover.

 

It was entirely too bright. That was the first thing Steve determined when his eyes opened, and that was with the blinds closed.

He groaned and rubbed over his face, rolling away from the windows, burying his face against Chris. Strong fingers played through his hair, making the throbbing in his head switch rhythms to match.

"How's the hangover?" Chris asked, his voice soft, but gruff.

"Hung." Steve responded. 

"Not surprised, you were up drinking again just before dawn." 

Steve frowned and leveraged himself up to look at Chris, who was leaning against the headboard reading a script.

"I was?"

Chris bent over and kissed his head. "Right after I woke up to you on top of me." He held up his hand and Steve could see the skin all red and swollen.

"How'd that happen?"

"You were being all possessive." Chris said, though his voice wasn't angry. "Hit it into the headboard."

"I don't remember." Steve scrubbed at his hair as he sat up, frowning until his face hurt. "How drunk was I?"

"You're asking me?" Chris asked, setting the script aside. "I barely remember getting back here."

Steve pushed himself up off the bed. "Does it hurt?" Steve came around Chris' side of the bed, reaching for his hand.

"Nah…it's fine." Chris said, shaking his head and moving as though he were going to get up. As the blankets slipped, Steve could see more bruising, on Chris' arms, on his chest, on his thigh.

Steve's fingers slide over the round mark on his thigh, frowning again. "Seriously, you look like you got the shit kicked out of you."

"You should see the other guy." Chris responded flippantly, getting up and moving away from Steve. He pulled sweat pants on over his legs and pulled a sweatshirt out of the dresser, pulling it on. 

"Chris…" Steve stood and followed after him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Aside from the fact that I'm starving and still feel like food is the worst idea in the world, yeah, I'm fine."

"Would you tell me if you weren't?" Steve asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew the answer.

Chris huffed and turned, pressing a kiss to Steve's forehead. "I'm fine. Just…you know…it's been a physical couple of days."

Steve's hand slid up under the shirt, pushing it up so he can see. Small bruises pepper his skin, some looking like finger tip bruises, others smaller even than that.

Chris pulled away and pulled the shirt back down. "Stop. I don't even remember where half of them come from. You know me…always something."

"Your hand though." Steve caught his hand and lifted it, not liking the way it was bruising in.

"It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine." Chris pulled his hand up and kissed it. "I'm going to make some coffee."

Steve watched him go, rubbing at his aching head. Something was definitely not right. He didn't remember getting home the night before either. He vaguely recalled the end of the show, fangirls, Jason heading off with some girl…but not much else.

There were flashes of feelings. Anger, hurt, betrayal, need, desire, craving…but they all just fell back into the dark haze of whiskey and tequila and beer. Steve pulled on clothes of his own, following Chris out to the kitchen. 

"You want food?" Chris asked, looking up. "We could order pizza or something."

Steve shook his head. "Food sounds gross."

"How about coffee?" Chris looked up from measuring the grounds.

Steve made a face and sat at the table. 

"You okay?" Chris finished the coffee and turned on the pot before coming to sit next to him. 

"A little fuzzy." He rubbed at his head. "I'm sorry." He took Chris' hand again, his fingers rubbing gently over the marks left from his carelessness. 

"It wasn't you're fault." Chris said.

"No, I should be more…attentive. I should pay attention more. I shouldn't be so drunk I can't remember our time together."

"You have been drinking a lot lately." Chris agreed softly. 

"I know." 

"Is it…never mind." Chris pulled away and shook his head.

"What? Is it what?"

"I just wonder sometimes." Chris looked at him, squinting. 

"About us?" Steve asked, feeling that sink in his stomach that always came when Chris was too quiet and withdrawn and started talking about "them". 

"You're still upset over how things went. Before."

It wasn't a question.

"What?"

Chris stood and paced away. "I mean, I get it. I understand why you would be. I was the one who walked away. I was the one who said I needed more."

It took him a minute to force the words through the hangover enough to figure out what Chris was getting at. "Wait. You think I'm drinking because…what exactly? That I don't really want to be here?"

Chris turned to look out the window over the sink. "No…not exactly." He sighed heavily. "You don't trust me not to fuck it up again."

Steve pushed the chair back and stood. "So I drink more?"

Chris sagged against the counter. "We don't…we don't really spend the time together we used to…you and me, our guitars…there's always someone around, and the drinking always takes us away from writing or anything else."

Steve's eyes burned as he realized that Chris believed he was purposely being kept at arms reach…that Steve was physically there but emotionally distant…and that he was the reason. 

"Oh, god, Chris." He slipped his arms around Chris from behind, tugging on him until he let go of the counter. "I didn't know you were…no." He turned Chris around, kissing over his face. "No. Okay? No. I do trust you. I know it hurt you as much as it did me. I know…and I love you." He stopped and looked Chris in the eye. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yeah, Steve. I know you love me." Chris said, though his tone was flat and his eyes skipped away.

"No, you don't. God, Chris." Steve rubbed his face with his hands. "I love you so much. I can't sleep when I'm home. Vegas is worse. I think about you all the time, talk about you until Darren's ready to punch me in the face." 

Chris sniffed and breathed in deep. "Steve, it's okay."

"No it isn't." Steve answered, backing away a step. "If you're thinking I'm not all here, if you think I'm holding back or hiding behind drinking, it isn't okay." Steve dragged a hand back through his hair, then turned to Chris. "And I'm going to take all day showing you exactly how much I love you and want to be here with you. No beer, no whiskey, no tequila. Just you and me."

 

There were fingertip bruises on the inside of both arms from where Steve had grabbed him. There was a round ring of black and blue on his thigh where Steve slammed the tequila bottle into him. The back of his left hand was mottled red and purple from the way Steve slammed it against the headboard while they fucked.

His ribs still had a dusty darkness to them. There were tiny bruises on his chest from lips and teeth, a bigger one on his collarbone from Steve's mouth.

His body hurt all over, a dull, deep ache that settled in his bones and made getting out of bed harder than it should be. He moved through the not-quite-dawn darkness, showering, finding his clothes, quietly easing into the day.

Chris dressed slowly, in the dark. Steve was sleeping after a whole night of sex and talking and music, a whole night without alcohol and the hidden temper that bloomed only with tequila or whiskey to water it. Chris eased worn jeans up over the bruise on his thigh, hoping that the achy, stiff muscle wouldn't interfere with the stunt work he knew was on his schedule for the day.

He layered on the shirts, a dark blue t-shirt that fit tight and covered his ribs and came to his elbows to cover the bruises there. He added a button down and grabbed fingerless gloves off the dresser to hide his hands. 

He pulled the gloves on with a sigh, knowing he'd have to explain the bruising to at least one person, unless he made it to the makeup trailer before anyone else and managed to cover it on his own. 

He paused at the door, watching Steve sleep. He made excuses for the bruises, argued that it was just a part of their physical relationship, that they played hard, that Steve was often hurt too. He flexed his hand. 

He was accident-prone. Always getting hurt.

It was the job. The drink. Heavy equipment and rough housing.

He loved Steve. Steve loved him.

Chris slipped on his sunglasses and left Steve sleeping.

 

The rehearsal was already fucked six ways to Sunday and Chris was frustrated, storming to the bar and grabbing a beer while the rest of the guys scattered to grab a smoke or take a piss.

Steve followed, pulling a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I don't know--"

Chris shook his head. "Not your fault man, it's just not working today."

Steve nodded, skipping past the beer and reaching for the bottle of tequila. "Really?" Chris asked, irritated all the more. "It ain't even dark."

"Thirsty." Steve responded, then he put a hand on Chris' shoulder. "Just a shot or two."

Chris shook his head again. He wasn't the man's babysitter. He'd hardly had anything to drink in the two days he'd been there. "Whatever. Just...go easy. I'd like to get _something_ done today."

There was a flash of something in Steve's eyes, dark and angry, but it passed quickly as he grinned and downed a shot.

The band was straggling back to the stage and Chris took a deep breath. "Maybe we should try something we haven't played in a while." 

"Do you take requests?" They both looked up and Chris was surprised to find Tim leaning against a pillar in the middle of the room.

Steve's hand slid up his back, his fingers closing around the back of his neck possessively. Chris brushed him off and crossed to Tim. "I didn't expect you." They'd talked about Tim, about his friendship and Chris had assured Steve that it was nothing more. Steve said he believed him, but he made it very clear he didn't like the man.

Tim's eyes flashed to Steve and back to Chris. "Heard you boys were rehearsing for tomorrow, thought I'd come listen."

His body language and words were casual, but the tone in his voice was icy. For all of Steve's dislike, Tim clearly didn't care for Steve either. 

Chris could feel Steve coming their way, could feel the air between the two men get colder. "Our rehearsals are closed." Steve said beside him, tossing back another shot. "We should get back to work." Steve's hand was on his elbow now, tighter than it needed to be.

"Chris, can you come outside? Just for a minute. I need to talk to you." Tim said, gesturing with his head toward the door.

If he left rehearsal for Tim, Steve was going to blow a gasket. "I really need to get back to rehearsal. Can it wait?" Chris felt Steve's pull and turned with it, back toward the stage. "You can hang out if you want. We shouldn't be a lot longer."

Chris could tell Tim was pissed, and so was Steve now, and he was stuck between them. Tim was watching the way Steve was shoving Chris toward his mic, Steve was watching the way Tim was watching him. Chris shook his head and tried to pull it together. Tim had some mixed up idea about Steve, something about him being a bad influence, trouble and Chris needed to make sure he understood that Chris had it under control.

"Lets do Mary." Chris said aside to Steve who nodded tightly, though his eyes never left Tim.

The rest of the band fell in as Steve started playing and Chris held the mic and started singing, looking anywhere and everywhere except at Tim. The words came without him having to think about them.

_" Mary and a man live in a two-bedroom beside me, Used to see her in the hall at night, Passed her on the street, But lately she ain't comin' around no more  
She hides indoors, Afraid of what the world might say if they knew, What I know._

_Mary, can you come outside? Take a walk with me in the sunshine, Maybe then you could tell me why, And all in all you seem to have it all, So why do you cry? I hear you through the walls at night, Mary, can you come outside?"_

He could feel Tim's eyes, and Jason was looking at him pretty intensely too. Chris closed his eyes. 

_"It's 2AM and the battle starts again, I pray for your innocence in a war you'll never win, Should I just sit here on these hands of mine, One more time or should I use them on him, The way he does on you?_ "

Steve's face flashed in front of him, contorted in anger as his fist swung out and slammed into his face. Chris shook his head and turned away from the mic. The guys kept playing while Chris drank from his beer bottle. 

He held up his hands to stop them. "Guys…just…stop."

Jason moved in on him, his dark eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong?"

Chris felt stifled. "I don't know. It's just…it ain't working and us just slamming at it isn't helping. Let's just call it a day."

He headed off stage, but Steve grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"To talk to Tim." Chris said, pulling his arm free. He looked up to find Tim wasn't where he'd been. "Just pack us up. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He was fuming, but not really sure why as he stalked across the open floor and out to the door. He found Tim leaning against the wall in front of the building. "So?"

"You all right?" Tim asked, all casual and easy.

"No, I'm not fucking all right." Chris snapped. "I'm pissed. Did you come all the way down here to piss me off?"

"I haven't done anything to piss you off Christian."

"You provoke him." Chris responded, moving away from the door. "You came down here knowing that."

"I came down here to see my friend." Tim countered. "But I can see I was wrong." His eyes darted to the door and back. Chris didn't have to look to know Steve was watching. "You change when he's here."

"What?" Chris was agitated. "I don't change."

Tim sighed and looked at him. "No? How long has he been coming up here? Three months? Every time, you get angry, withdrawn. It's a cycle. First the excitement, the happiness before he gets here, then you get sullen and angry and you drink and you come in with bruises and you make excuses. Then he leaves and you're quiet and depressed and you think you hide it, but you don't."

Chris stepped back, shaking his head. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Tim moved in, his hand landing on Chris' shoulder, tightening against a bruise he thought he'd hidden. "He only got here yesterday Chris and already you've got fresh bruises."

Chris cleared his throat. "I did that before he got here." He pulled away. "Okay? It was an accident. I tripped."

"More toys on the sidewalk?" Tim asked softly.

Chris growled and headed back to the door. "I gotta help tear down."

Tim grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Whatever it is, Chris, get a grip on it. It's starting to affect your work. Aldis sees it, Beth sees it. Hell, even Dean's commented on it."

Chris yanked free of him. "Fine. We done?"

He didn't look to see if Tim left, just went back inside. Steve was at the bar, tossing back shots. The rest of the guys were nearly done. Chris pulled a hand through his hair. It was going to be a long night. He crossed to Steve, taking the shot out of his hand and downing it himself.

An hour later, Chris was still pissed as they climbed the stairs into his apartment. "You going to tell me what that was about?" Steve asked as he shut the door.

"What?" Chris asked.

"With your buddy?" 

The way he said the word made Chris stop and turn. "You mean my friend Tim, who I work with. The one you keep thinking I'm sleeping with?"

"Are you?" Steve's face was red, his eyes shot through.

"Maybe I should be." Chris spit at him. "I'm fucking tired of this."

"Of me?" Steve moved fast, pushing Chris into the wall.

Chris put both hands on his shoulders and shoved, knocking Steve backwards. He stumbled and fell over the chair, landing on the floor. "Of this. Your goddamn jealousy and his suspicion and being fucking tired all the time."

Steve picked himself up, fury clear in his face. "Maybe I should just go home then."

Chris closed his eyes and tried to bury the anger. "Maybe you should trust me a little more," he countered. 

"Every time that man is around, you're a different person." Steve said, eyes narrowed at Chris. "You act different. And I feel left out. So why wouldn't I think you have something going on with him?"

"I do have something going on with him Steve. He's my friend. A mentor. I've learned a lot from him. But I'm not having sex with him. He's straight, okay? He's…" Chris shook his head. The anger was starting to bleed away. "You are the only man I want in my bed." 

He exhaled and rolled his eyes. "Now, I'm going to bed. You coming?" When Steve didn't respond right away, Chris left him standing in the living room and went to bed. He wasn't going to sleep, not when he was still this worked up. He laid in bed and listened to Steve stomp around in the living room, out to the kitchen. Then it got quiet and somehow Chris knew that meant that Steve had found a bottle and was crawling inside it.

He punched his pillow into submission and rolled over, back to the door, eyes shut, just praying sleep would come.

 

Steve was sullen and withdrawn, disappearing an hour after Chris got out of bed. Chris didn't see him until just before they had to leave to get to the show. Sound check was better than rehearsal, though the tension was high.

Aldis called as they were headed downstairs to change and eat to say he wasn't going to make it. They'd had problems on the set and he was stuck staying there to finish. Chris huffed and threw himself into his chair.

Steve sat next to him. Neither of them spoke as the guys came and went, changing, grabbing pizza, and eventually filtering out to go be friendly with the fans and grab a beer. 

When the room was empty, Steve reached a hand over and touched Chris on the arm. "So, I changed my flight out. I think we need some time to work this out."

Chris sighed. He should have known. He'd pushed him away. Steve turned to him, taking both of his hands. "Christian, listen to me."

"I'm listening." Chris said, though he didn't look up.

"I'm staying here. I called Darren and told him I was staying here for the week."

Chris looked up, the tired and hurt and residual anger washing away. "You're staying?"

Steve smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah, dumbass. I'm staying. I'm going to cook you dinner and rub your feet and be so damn domestic you won't know what to do with me."

Chris grinned, leaning in to kiss him quickly and passionately. "As long as that includes sex in every room, on every surface until neither one of us can walk..."

 

Two days of bliss followed. Steve met him at the door when he came home with kisses and appetizers and the smell of something wonderful cooking filling the apartment.

Chris left for work each morning achy from the sheer physicality of the sex. He kept it to himself that Steve was there, let his pleasure at the secret fill him and he found that led to a lot of grinning and goofing off between takes. It was almost like he was more himself.

The tension between him and Tim eased almost instantly, though Chris was careful not to mention Steve or get himself invited to dinner. He was finishing up a long day when his phone rang and he frowned at the caller ID. He'd expect it to be Steve, wondering why he was late. Instead it was Jensen.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I got the weirdest call from Steve, and he won't answer his phone. Have you heard from him?"

Chris headed for his trailer. "No. Weird how?"

"He was angry and drunk."

"Angry about what?"

"I told you, it was weird. He didn't make any sense. Said something about you being out dicking around or something. He was breaking shit." He heard someone talking to Jensen softly. "He said something about hitting you to make you see how much he loves you, and then he hung up."

Chris got into the trailer and pulled the door shut. Things had been going well the last few days. He shook his head.

"Chris?"

"Yeah, I'm just…." He didn't really know what to say. "I'm sure he'll find a place to sleep it off and he'll be fine." His heart thundered in his chest, wondering what exactly he was going to find when he got home. 

Jensen was quiet for a minute, and when he did speak, his voice was deep, quiet and serious. "He hasn't hit you, has he?"

"What?" Chris sat hard on the small couch, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I mean, I know you Chris. You wouldn't hit back, especially not if he was drunk. Is that what Aldis was trying to tell me?"

"Aldis? What are you talking about?" Chris dragged in a deep breath. "I told you, Jen. I'm good. Steve and I are good. He's probably off somewhere drinking alone and you know how he gets."

"Yeah, I'm coming." Jensen said to someone else. "Jared says hi. I'm due on set. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, man, I'm good. I'll see if I can get a hold of Steve. Maybe I can talk him down."

"Call me later."

"I will." Chris snapped his phone shut and rubbed a hand over his face, pulling his hair back. "Shit." 

He checked his watch. It was already after 8pm, which meant he'd missed dinner by more than two hours, but he'd called and left Steve a message letting him know he was going to be late.

He changed quickly, grabbed the keys to his truck and headed for the parking lot. Aldis and Tim were hanging there talking. "There you are." Tim said. "Aldis and I are heading out for a beer." 

"Have fun." Chris said, unlocking his truck.

"Why don't you come with?" Aldis leaned on the truck. "Been a while."

"I need to get home." Chris responded, looking away. 

"To an empty apartment?" Tim asked. 

"I'm tired." Chris opened the door of his truck.

Tim's eyes narrowed and Chris felt as though he was looking through him, through the lie. Chris sighed and started to get into the truck. He didn't want to be here arguing with them, not when Steve needed him.

Aldis came around to his side of the truck, catching the door. "Friday. I am not taking no for an answer. You, me, Tim and a pitcher of beer. Some pool, darts."

Chris forced a grin. "Oh, you looking for me to mop the floor with you again?"

"Oh no you didn't! I got double or nothing I'm going to beat your sorry ass."

Chris nodded. "Deal. Friday. Tonight I just want to go home and crawl into my bed. Okay?"

Aldis nodded and backed off. Chris started the truck and backed out, heading for home.

"Steve?" He called out as he came into the apartment. The door was ajar slightly. He could smell something burning on the stove. "Steve?"

The living room reeked of whiskey and vomit. The chair was overturned, the coffee table on its side. Stacks of CDs lay scattered around the floor, some of them cracked and broken.

Chris moved further into the apartment, easing into the kitchen. The table was filled with empty beer bottles. Spaghetti sauce covered the walls and the floor and the pot sat on a burner, nearly empty and blackened. He turned off the stove, checked the oven to find a charred loaf of bread.

The pasta sat in a strainer in the sink, cold to the touch. 

Steve was no where to be seen though, not in the bathroom or the bedroom. Obviously, he'd drank his way through whatever alcohol was left in the house, which hadn't been a lot more than the beer and a half a bottle of Jack left over from the last gig, and gone out in search of more.

Chris sighed and pulled out his cell phone. Steve's phone dumped straight to voicemail. "Steve, where are you? I'm home. Call me. Come home."

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and grabbed the trash can to start cleaning up.

Two hours later, the apartment was clean, the windows open to let out the rather sickening combination of smells. Chris was still alone. He'd called at least twice more, but Steve hadn't answered, or called back. Chris climbed into the shower, then into bed. Not that he would sleep. Not until Steve was home.

Except he did, somewhere around midnight, Chris dozed off. He woke to a clattering, crashing, breaking sound, sitting up and reaching for a light, but freezing in place as Steve stumbled into the room. The odor of booze and cheap perfume oozed off him as he stumbled in, dropping his shoes and shirt and crawling up the bed toward Chris.

As he got close enough, Chris could see he'd been crying, his eyes red, his face dirty. "Steve?"

"Need you." Steve murmured, burying his face against Chris' neck.

"Right here."

He didn't say anything, just curled into Chris and passed out, leaving Chris to wonder where he'd been and what he'd been doing…because he knew that come morning Steve wouldn't even remember enough to tell him.

 

There was glass everywhere as Steve turned the corner into the kitchen. "Chris?"

"Don't!" Chris appeared suddenly, a broom in his hand, stopping Steve from coming into the room with his bare feet. Not that Chris was wearing anything on his feet, and there was already blood on the floor.

"Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing." Chris said, his voice dark. Steve has heard those words a lot this summer.

"Come here, let me look."

"I'm cleaning up, Steve." Chris responded, a little anger in his voice.

Steve frowned at him. "Put some shoes on at least."

Chris got close enough Steve could reach him and Steve pulled him back out of the kitchen. Chris lifted his bleeding foot and hobbled toward the chair, letting Steve examine it once he was sitting.

"What happened?" Steve murmured, pulling the footstool over to sit on while he poked at the bottom of Christian's foot.

"How do I know? It was there when I got up." Chris said, wincing when Steve found the glass still in his skin.

"What?" Steve didn't like the look of the cut, deep and angry looking and bleeding profusely.

"It was there when I got up." Chris was frowning at him now, but Steve was more concerned about the amount of glass and blood than what was bugging Chris and didn't really hear him.

"I think we need to get you into an ER, this is in pretty deep."

Chris sighed and sagged into the chair. "I'll call the set, tell them I'm going to be late."

Steve nodded and stood. "I'll get dressed and get my keys."

 

Chris could handle a lot of things, a lot of pain. He didn't take pain pills unless it was really bad, but this time, when the doctor handed him the prescription, Chris took it.

His foot throbbed, maybe more after the cleaning and stitching and bandaging. They gave him crutches. Steve helped him out to the truck, but when they're on the road, it was clear they weren't headed to the set. Chris sighed. "I have to go in, Steve."

"You can't even walk, Chris." Steve countered, his voice dark. He was looking haggard and hungover and they hadn't even gotten to the part where they talked about what had happened.

"If I don't at least show up, I'm going to get in trouble. I mean, they've been understanding about stuff, but..." He didn't say what he was thinking, didn't say that it got harder each time he had a new injury to hide, or how he made mistakes he never used to make.

Steve cursed and turned them around, heading them in to the set. He made a show of helping Chris out of the truck and staying close as they headed for his trailer.

Amy was waiting by the trailer, scowling, but the look faded when she saw him. "What in the world did you do to yourself?"

Chris forced a grin. "I'm fine, just a little household accident. Give me a few minutes to get into my boots, and I'll be good to go."

Steve's hand tightened on his arm. "He cut his foot open on some broken glass."

Amy shook her head. "No, we can rearrange, do the office shots today. We can do your fight scene Friday, give you some time to heal that up."

Steve's hand lightened up, but he didn't let go.

"I'll send costume and makeup to you, and send a PA when we're ready for you. And hope Rogers doesn't flip when I tell him we're rearranging again."

Chris nodded, grateful beyond words, even though he didn't say anything. He managed to get up into the trailer and settled, but he had no sooner sat down and the door was opening and Tim was there.

"I heard you had an 'accident'." Tim said, complete with air quotes.

"I stepped on some glass." Chris growled, his eyes flashing up to Steve, who's face was suddenly hard.

"Is that right?" Tim was looking at Steve now too. "Funny how you always seem to have these 'accidents' on the weeks that Steve's in Portland, isn't it?"

"Are you implying something?" Steve asked, stepping closer to Tim.

"Implying? No, I'm flat out saying it."

"Guys, come on." Chris tried intervening, standing and moving in between them, facing Steve. "Seriously, this is stupid."

"What's stupid is the way you take it, Chris." Tim was quiet, his hand on Chris' shoulder.

Chris turned, shaking his head. "Take what, exactly? You make it sound like some freaking Lifetime movie of the week." He pulled a hand through his hair. "Steve's around, I party harder, I stay up too late, I get sloppy. That's all. Accidents happen."

Tim nodded, his face hard, his eyes narrowed on Chris' face. "How many more 'accidents' can there be, Chris, before you're really hurt? That's all I want to know."

Steve lurched forward as Tim opened the door, but Chris pushed him back. "Stop." 

"I don't like him." Steve said unnecessarily.

"The feeling is mutual." Chris responded, sinking back onto the couch. "Why don't you go home? I'll get a ride when I'm done."

"I want to stay and take care of you." Steve said, leaning in to kiss his forehead. 

"I got people here to do that. I promise I'll be fine, and I'll be home on time, and then we can figure out what happened yesterday."

Steve frowned at him. "Yesterday? Nothing happened yesterday."

Chris rubbed a hand over his face. "Steve, now isn't the time and this isn't the place. But something happened and we need to talk about it." There was a knock on the door, heralding the start of his prep to get on set. "Here, take my prescription and get it filled. I'm going to want them later."

Steve opened the door and let the makeup woman in. "Call me and I'll come get you." 

Chris nodded, but his attention was already diverted to what he needed to do. He had to put Steve and Tim both completely out of his mind and focus. Just focus on the job and let the rest sort itself out later.

 

He avoided Tim when they weren't in a scene together because he didn't want to get into it again. He just wanted to get through his day and get home. 

"How's the foot?" Aldis asked, jogging up beside him as he headed to his trailer to change.

"Hurts." Chris sighed and stopped his slow progress to look at his friend, who was clearly in his own clothes. "You finished?"

Aldis nodded. "Yeah, I came to see if you wanted a lift home."

"Steve said he'd come get me."

Aldis nodded again, then shook his head. "No offense, but that's just dumb. You're on my way, we're both leaving. No point in waiting around here making him drive out."

Chris couldn't fault the logic. "Okay, give me five minutes to change." He hobbled up into the trailer, already pulling clothes off. He called Steve's phone, frowning when he was dumped to voice mail. "Hey, Steve. Aldis is giving me a lift home. Be there soon."

He dressed quickly and headed out to where Aldis was waiting. "You know, my mama cut her foot on some glass when I was a kid." Aldis said as they got into his car.

"You're still a kid." Chris joked, ducking his half hearted swat.

"She didn't take care of it and it got all infected. It was disgusting."

Chris snorted. "And you're telling me this because…"

"Just saying, you should keep it clean and dry and stay off it until the stitches come out."

"Because the doctor didn't already tell me that." 

Aldis gave him this look that instantly made him blush and snort at the same time. "When have you _ever_ listened to a doctor?"

"Okay, point. I get it."

"I worry. I'm a worrier." They pulled up in front of his apartment, and Aldis dropped hand on Chris' arm. "I mean that." His eyes darted up to the window, where he could see Steve watching them. "I worry about you."

"I'm fine, Aldis. Thanks for the ride." Chris opened the door and maneuvered his crutches out before leveraging himself up out of the car. "What time is your call tomorrow?"

"Eight."

"Can you swing by and pick me up? I'm not even going to try to drive."

"Sure man. Get some rest."

Chris shut the door and pivoted on his good foot, and headed inside. Steve met him at the top of the stairs. 

"I told you I'd come get you." He chastised after kissing Chris on the cheek.

"I know, but Aldis has to drive this way anyway." Chris got himself into the apartment and onto the couch. "Did you get my pills?"

"Yeah, hang on I'll get them." 

Steve seemed sober, the apartment clean. Chris sighed. "Have you talked to Jensen?" Chris asked as Steve came back with a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

"No…why? Was I supposed to?"

"You called him yesterday, had him worried about you."

Steve frowned as he perched on the coffee table. "I don't remember."

"You were drunk." Chris said, watching him, waiting for a reaction. "Drunk and saying crazy things."

Steve crossed his arms, frowning as he thought it through. "I remember have a beer while I was cooking. And there was only a half bottle of Jack."

"Do you remember trashing the kitchen?" Chris asked, wincing when Steve stood abruptly. "Or the living room?"

"I was angry." Steve stopped suddenly in the middle of the room. "I don't know why."

"When I got home, you were gone. And the place was trashed. You didn't come home until after midnight."

Steve rubbed at his face, scowling as he looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Chris said with a sigh. "Get better."

Steve nodded distractedly. "I will."

"I mean it, Steve." Chris swallowed and pushed himself up off the couch. "I love you and you're scaring me."

Steve pulled him close, arms circling around him. "I love you too. I'm going to do whatever it takes to show you."

Chris kissed over Steve's lips. The pain pill was starting to work its magic, judging by the way everything seemed a little fuzzy around the edges. "You can start by helping me into bed…and then keeping me there."

Steve smiled against his lips, hands sliding down to cup Chris' ass. "You should eat first."

"Oh, I'll eat." Chris said wickedly, his hand falling to cup Steve's hardening cock. "And suck and lick."

"You are an evil man." Steve murmured into his neck as he leaned around Chris for his crutches, holding them for Chris to take.

"You taught me well." Chris replied, taking the crutches. "Call Jensen. I need to get cleaned up."

"You're a tease!" Steve exclaimed, but he pulled out his phone.

"Oh, no…I fully intend to follow through. After you talk to Jensen and let him know you're okay."

Chris exhaled slowly as he made his way into the bathroom to clean up. Jensen would back him up, make sure Steve knew how serious it was. Chris was sure of it. Just like he was sure the anger and the violence came from the bottle, not Steve. If he could just get Steve to lay off the alcohol, they would be okay.

He knew it.

 

Steve paced up and down the living room with his phone in his hand. The call log clearly showed that he'd called Jensen around four the day before, but damn if he could remember.

He dialed, exhaling slowly as he lifted the phone to his ear.

"It's about damn time." Jensen exploded in his ear.

"Sorry." Steve shook his head. "I just wanted to let you know I was okay."

"Are you?" 

The question was sharp and it dug into his own uncertainty. "Yeah, dude. Just got a little wasted."

"A little?" Jensen was clearly upset with him. "Do you even remember what you told me?"

"Not really…I was angry."

"I'll say." Jensen fumbled his phone and Steve heard a door shut. "You were convinced Chris was cheating on you, and man, you and I both know that ain't Chris."

Steve did know, on some level. It was never Chris who had trouble staying monogamous. Steve was the one with the wandering dick, especially when there was liquor involved. 

"I know." Steve sank into the chair, glancing at the hall. "I…don't know what I was thinking."

"I'll tell you what you told me." Jensen said. "You told me that you didn't trust Tim, that Tim was trying to steal Chris and that you needed to show Chris he belonged to you. You told me you would do anything to make Chris understand…even hit him."

"Well, I don't trust Tim." Steve responded, making a face. "I'd punch him in the face if I didn't think Chris would hate me for it."

"Not Tim, Steve. You said you would hit Chris. You said you'd beat the shit out of him."

Steve's heart stopped and he froze. "What? I'd never hurt Chris."

"No?" Jensen's voice was cold. "I saw the way you were when I was there. A couple of drinks in you and you were all over him, and I know you left bruises on his arms when he was saying goodbye to Tim and Aldis."

"Jen…I don't know what you're saying. I've never…" Flashes of memory scattered through his brain, moments of violent anger, hands fisted, shoving Chris in his fury.

"That's not the story I'm hearing from Aldis. He tells me that Chris always seems to end up with new bruises when you're in town."

Steve sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. "He's getting that from Tim. I don't know why."

"You saying it isn't true?"

"I don't know. It's not like Chris wouldn't kick the shit out of me if I tried, Jensen. He can take me before I even land the first punch."

"He could, but he wouldn't. Especially not if you were drunk at the time. He wouldn't take advantage."

That much was true. Steve had seen Chris sidestep a drunk in a fight more than once. "I've already told Chris I'd stop drinking."

"That's a good first step, Steve." Jensen's voice softened. "I worry about both of you, you know?"

"I know. You're a good friend."

"How's the album coming?"

"Slow." Steve couldn't think about the album, not with everything else. "Still working on it though."

"You okay?"

"I think so." Steve really wasn't sure, but Jensen didn't need to know that.

"You call me if you need to."

"I will." 

"Good. I gotta go. I'm late."

Jensen hung up and Steve stood there for a few minutes, staring at his phone. He loved Chris. He wouldn't ever hurt him. Not on purpose. 

He was sure of it.

 

Steve cleared off a spot on the couch and helped Chris down, lifting his foot up onto the coffee table. "You want anything?"

Chris shook his head. "I'm good."

Steve leaned in to kiss him. "I'll make dinner."

It had been a quiet couple of days since the whole incident in the kitchen. His foot still throbbed but it was getting better. Steve had been attentive and caring, even though he was supposed to be in Vegas right now. For a second time he had pushed out his flight to stay in Portland a few more days, ostensibly to help Chris until the stitches came out the next morning.

There was a knock at the door and Steve buzzed past him to answer it. Chris craned his neck to look, especially when he heard Steve say, "Jensen?"

"Dude, aren't you supposed to be in Vegas?"

There were hugs and then Jensen was there beside Chris, his face tight. Behind Jensen came Jared and Danneel and Aldis and Tim. Steve bristled as Tim nodded at Chris.

Chris stood and reached out to hug his friend. "Jensen, man...what's up?"

Jensen's eyes flicked to Tim, then Steve before coming back to Chris. "Well...Aldis invited us down for the weekend and we thought we'd come kidnap you."

There was something Jensen wasn't saying and Jared was fidgeting nervously. Steve stepped in beside Chris. "He really should stay off his foot, at least until the stitches come out."

"Well, we can stay in then." Tim said. Jensen looked at him and nodded. 

"Yeah, Steve, let's you and me go get some pizzas or something to feed this crowd, okay?"

Steve frowned a little, still watching Tim, but he nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Chris sat as they left, rubbing at his leg, wanting to lift the foot and pick at the stitches. He'd already tried taking them out himself, but Steve had stopped him and then distracted him with sex. 

He picked Jared when he looked up. "So, what is this really all about?"

Danneel flopped onto the couch next to him, her hand sliding into his. "We're here because we're worried about you."

Chris looked up at Tim, accusation in his eyes. "You do this?"

Tim shrugged and came to sit in the chair. "After the cut on your foot and the bruises on your arms, and the thing with your hand…we figured it was time." He gestured at the red mark on his right hand.

Chris sighed and shook his head. "Seriously? I told you, I burned it on the damn flat iron."

"And where was Steve?" Danneel asked, her head on his shoulder.

"In the other room." Chris said, annoyed. 

Her fingers slipped up under his shirt sleeve, caressing over the small bruises. "And these?"

"We…it was a sex thing, okay?" Chris huffed, remembering the way Steve had gotten all possessive, his fingers digging in to first his arms, and then his hips as they fucked. He wondered what they'd say if they could see the bruises Steve had left there, on his hips and ass.

"You could mop the floor with him." Aldis said from behind Tim. "I don't get it."

"It isn't like that." Chris shook his head. "You make it sound like...like he beats me up or something."

"You don't have to put up with it." Jared said. 

Chris stood, fighting to keep the grimace off his face as his foot touched the floor. "I don't put up with anything. Steve is a good man, he's my friend. I love him."

Jared's hand caught his shoulder and his words whispered into Chris' ear. "Sometimes love isn't enough."

Chris pulled away. "Like you would know?" He immediately regretted the tone, and turned back to try to soften it, but Jared was looking at Danneel with an expression Chris couldn't read. "Look. He's got a problem. Okay? I know that, he knows that. He's working on it."

"You think getting sober is going to fix everything?" Tim asked, sitting back in the chair.

Timothy Hutton was a smart man. He knew Steve had been sober all week. He knew the fresh bruises had happened since the accident with the broken glass. His eyes cut through the room and into Chris, seeing the truth that Chris hadn't yet let himself see.

"It's a start." Chris said finally, dropping back to the couch. Jared sat next to him, big hand falling on his thigh.

"It is a start. We just want to make sure that isn't all." Jared said. "He's our friend too. We want both of you to be okay."

The door opened and Steve and Jensen appeared, pizza and soda in hand. Jared got up to help and the room filled with the buzz of conversation as everyone except Chris and Tim gravitated toward the food. Chris could feel Tim's eyes, but didn't look up.

Jensen put a plate in Chris' lap with a slice of pizza on it before sitting on the coffee table, facing Chris. "So, I talked to Steve. Jared's going to get him to the airport tomorrow and I'm going to take you to the doctor to get the stitches out, okay?"

Chris looked for Steve, who was sitting with Danneel in the kitchen. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good." Jensen grinned. "Eat."

He got the distinct impression he was being handled by his friends, but he knew they meant well. Even if he still thought they didn't really understand.

Then again, he was beginning to wonder if maybe he was the one floundering a little. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back and letting the sounds and voices swirl around him. 

 

 

The apartment seemed crowded with so many people in it. Jared and Jensen and Danneel had spent the night, Danneel on the couch, Jared and Jensen on blow up mattresses on the living room floor.

Chris was leaning on the doorway to the bedroom, watching Jensen say goodbye to Danneel who also had a plane to catch. He hadn't told Steve about the intervention of sorts, but it was easy to see Steve knew something was wrong.

"Come here." Steve pulled him into a hug. "You know I love you."

"I know." Chris responded. He wanted Steve to stay, wanted the time to find each other again underneath all the crap. Steve's fingers brushed hair off his face. "Call me anytime you need to okay?" 

"Yeah." Chris was starting to feel abandoned, which was stupid. He'd just been griping about how crowded the damn place was. Still, once Steve left, Chris would be alone again for weeks before the band came back.

"Don't let them hurt you." Steve said softly in his ear as they hugged. "Remember I'm the one who takes care of you."

"I will." 

Steve picked up his bag and put his boarding pass into his pocket. Chris watched him head for the door, Jared and Danneel behind him, his stomach turning.

 

"Seriously?" 

Jensen grinned and held the door of the truck open. "I promised Steve I would see you safely here and home again."

"I'm not an invalid. I can drive."

"I've seen you drive." Jensen countered, climbing into the driver's seat. "So where to?"

Chris frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"We've got at least an hour until lunch."

"I don't need a babysitter." Chris groused, crossing his arms and scowling out the window.

"I thought I was your friend, and I'm in town unexpectedly, and I want to hang out." Jensen took his hands off the wheel and looked at him. "Come on, there's got to be something you want to do.

"I want to go home and read my script."

Jensen sighed. "You're angry."

At first Chris didn't respond, but the more he thought about it the angrier he got. "Hell yes, I'm angry." 

"Good." Jensen responded, taking some of the wind out of his sails. "Maybe now that you've gotten angry, you'll start to see straight and I won't have to come down here and beat you both senseless."

"You and Tim are both making this out to be more than it is." Chris said once Jensen had them moving into traffic. "He's not going to drink anymore. That'll be the end of it."

"I hope so." Jensen's voice was soft. 

"And even if it isn't, don't you think that it should be between me and him?" Chris asked. "I don't go sticking my nose into whatever it is you and Jeff do."

"Me and Jeff? Why are you bringing that up?"

"You think I don't see that he marks you?"

"That's totally different."

Chris shook his head. "Whatever. Steve and I are working this out. We don't need you to stage some fucking intervention, okay?"

Jensen's face was tight. "You want me to leave you to wallow in whatever shit is going on in that head?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No. No. You are not pulling that shit with me." Jensen pulled them off the road and into a parking lot at some shopping center. He turned completely in his seat. "I know you're probably thinking some stupid shit about how Steve shouldn't trust you and how you were the one who walked away before because you didn't think you were getting what you needed from him. You're probably telling yourself that he hasn't forgiven you and you should expect him to be a little possessive, a little jealous."

Chris wanted to deny his words, but Jensen didn't even give him the space.

"I don't give a shit what little pity party is going on in your head. There is never a reason for you take that shit from him. Ever. And believe me, I've told him so myself. So pull your head up out of your ass, get over your goddamn self and stop."

Jensen turned back to the steering wheel. "Now, I'm going to take you home and I'm going to meet up with Jared and when we come over to take you to dinner, I expect you to be dressed and ready to have some fun."

Neither of them spoke again the rest of the way back to the apartment. Chris went upstairs alone, letting himself into the very quiet apartment and limping in to his bedroom. Jensen was right, and he knew it. But what he felt was lonely.

He laid down, pulling Steve's pillow to him and breathing in deep and letting the smell of Steve quiet the longing inside.

 

It was obvious that Jensen had contacted Jason or Ryan…probably both, before the next gig. They flew in to Portland before Steve, and they picked Steve up at the airport and took him to their hotel. 

Chris didn't even see any of them until rehearsal. It didn't keep them from talking…Chris fell asleep nearly every night with Steve talking or singing in his ear. 

Still, when he walked into Dante's to find Steve there, his heart skipped a beat or two. He looked good, even hidden behind glasses and under a baseball hat. They didn't get any time alone, not until sound check was done and Chris had gone downstairs to get his hair blown out and flat ironed so it wasn't a kinky, curly mess that he couldn't even get a finger through. 

Steve dropped into the chair next to his suddenly. "Hey."

Chris grinned. "Hey."

"You good?"

Chris nodded, his eyes on the mirror, looking at Steve. "Yeah. I'm good. You?"

"I think I'm finally through the hangover from hell. That took forever." He rubbed his chin with a hand. 

Chris had listened to him moan about the sick stomach and headaches for almost a week. "Good. Chris fiddled with the shirt he was planning to change into.

"I want a drink like you don't even know." Steve huffed and leaned forward, pulling off the glasses. His left eye was red and slightly bruised.

"What did you do?" Chris asked, reaching for him.

"Stupid. Couldn't sleep. Tried writing, tried playing…ended up rearranging my CD's and shit. I dropped a box. Hit my eye, then my foot." He leaned into the mirror and poked at his eye, then slipped the glasses back on. 

"I've missed you." Chris turned the chair and reached for him. Steve came closer, bending down for a kiss.

"I would have stayed longer." Steve's eyes were closed, his breathing tight. "Jensen…"

"I know. It's okay." Chris said. "He's trying to help."

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and they separated. "I'm going to go get some air." 

Chris nodded as he left and the room was filled with guys from the club and the girl who was going to do his hair and Jason checking in on him. He took the beer someone handed him and swallowed down half of it.

He shouldn't really drink either. He had a ridiculous call time in the morning. But seeing Steve and knowing he was hurting, not being able to comfort him was more than he wanted to deal with. 

If it was possible, the crowd was bigger than it had been before, though Chris felt the absences of certain people more profoundly than he expected, his eyes darting to the table Tim usually sat at over and over, when they weren't darting to Steve, making sure he was alright. 

Steve stayed focused on the music, sipping off a bottle of water. Chris finished off a few beers, but barely touched the Jack he'd brought out. They finished the set to rowdy applause and headed off stage. The intent was to break down fast and beat it the hell out so he could steal a few hours of sleep.

Somewhere during the process, Chris lost sight of Steve and it wasn't until he was ready to go that he realized Steve had probably gone out to mingle, and probably shouldn't have been left alone.

Chris was grabbing his bag when he saw Steve again. Steve pulled the door shut and pressed Chris up against the wall. He tasted like whiskey and hunger, his knee pressing up into Chris' groin.

He moaned into Steve's lips, pulling back enough to get a hand up into Steve's hair, knocking the damn hat off. "Want you." Steve whispered.

"Lets get out of here." Chris panted back, licking his lips. "My place…my truck…out…out back." They headed up the stairs, moving fast toward the door. There were fans that fluttered and moved in as they emerged, but Chris growled and reached behind him for Steve, pulling him along. 

He had to force himself not to touch, not to pull Steve in to kiss as they reached the car. Not where the fans could see. Never in public. Steve wasn't helping in that regard, all hands and need and before the doors were even shut he was reaching for Chris, hand on his thigh. "Hold on. Just a few minutes." 

Somehow, Chris got them out of there, tearing off toward home. Steve rummaged through Chris' bag, coming out with the bottle of Jack. "Steve." Chris warned.

"Just…one. To take the edge off." Steve murmured. "I can do just one. I promise. It'll be fine." He opened the bottle, took a long drink and capped it again. "See. Easy." 

Chris pulled them into the parking lot at the apartment. "Inside…" Chris grabbed his bag, while Steve kept the bottle and they raced for the stairs, up to the door. Chris fumbled with his keys, finally getting the door open and pulling Steve inside. He stripped the bottle away, setting it aside before shoving Steve into the door. "Need you."

"Right here, baby." Steve's hands touched his shoulders, caressed over his neck until he was holding Chris' face. The taste of whiskey filled his mouth with Steve's tongue, then Steve was turning them, pressing Chris into the door, his one hand sliding down to unzip Chris' jeans and ease his cock out. "Gonna make you feel so good."

Steve slid to one knee, his mouth opening and surrounding Chris' cock, coaxing it to hardness. His eyes slid closed as his mouth made obscene noises and his tongue traced out some abstract pattern over wet skin as he pulled back.

Chris reached for him, but Steve evaded his hands, blowing hot air over his cock before he lapped at it, at the head and under it, down one side and up the other. When he took Chris back into his mouth, Chris' head fell back against the door with a thunk. "Steve…" His voice was a whine of warning, his cock already leaking as Steve swallowed over and over and Chris couldn't stop the orgasm that swept through him and erupted into Steve.

Steve rocked back and stood, wiping his mouth before pressing in to kiss Chris, the whiskey taste gone behind the salty, slightly bitter taste of come. "Too many clothes." Steve breathed, his nimble fingers working to pull Chris' shirt up and off. 

"You too." Chris responded, fighting to get to the buttons of Steve's shirt. Eventually they had to let go of one another to actually accomplish the removal of clothing and the separated, moving away from the door.

Steve had his jeans open, one hand stroking his cock. "Want to fuck you here, on the couch. Get the lube."

Chris headed for the bedroom, dropping his jeans in the hamper as he went to the night stand, pulling out the lube. When he got back to the living room, Steve was naked on the couch, licking his lips, his eyes half lidded as he stroked his cock slow. Chris handed him the lube, watching him smear it over himself before reaching for Chris, guiding him in.

Chris felt the head of his cock press into him and pulled away a little, reaching for the lube, but Steve pulled it away. "Not enough." Chris said breathlessly. 

Steve's hands slid down his sides, tightening on his hips. "Plenty."

"Shit." He pushed and Chris sank, taking the head into himself. He pulled up before sinking down again, taking a little more, stretching around Steve with a grimace. It wasn't pain…exactly, but it burned and stretched and filled him up tight. He gasped for air and pushed down, aided and encouraged by Steve's hands digging into his skin. 

"Faster." Steve gasped at him, his hips moving up to meet Chris on his down stroke. 

"Can't." Chris gripped the back of the couch, rocking back toward Steve's face, changing the angle and making Steve growl up at him. It was awkward and he was going to fuck up his back, but he didn't care, it felt too damn good. Even his cock was thinking the same, half hard for a second go.

Steve shifted under him, lurching up and suddenly Chris was falling forward, his head slamming into the arm of the couch. His arms flailed out to try to catch himself, even as Steve's hands found his rib cage and squeezed, holding him in place as Steve fucked into him. "Faster." Steve grunted into his back, his actions echoing his words, slamming harder and harder until he was coming.

Chris collapsed forward as Steve released him and eased back, both of them panting. His cock was full hard again and his face ached from falling into the arm of the chair. "Shit."

He eased off the couch and padded naked into the bathroom to clean up. Steve crowded in behind him as he leaned into the mirror. "It's gonna fucking bruise." Great. Another reason for everyone to think the worst. 

Steve's arms circled his waist, the bottle of Jack in one hand, and pulled him back. "Still pretty."

"Yeah and you're half way to drunk." Chris said, making a face in the mirror and reaching for the bottle. "This was a bad idea." He reached for the bottle, but Steve didn't surrender it easily. "Steve, come on man. You promised."

Steve rolled his eyes, but let go of the bottle, moving out of the way as Chris left the bathroom. "Buzzkill."

Chris turned. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Whatever, man." Chris headed for the kitchen, but didn't get much past the bedroom door and Steve was on him, dragging him into the room, bouncing them off the door and the dresser and Chris hissed when the doorknob of the closet door bit into his ribs. He slammed the bottle down on the dresser and tried to stop them, but his shin hit the bed and the crashed into the mattress and rolled off, Steve landing on top, knocking the wind out of him.

"Fuck, sorry." Steve gasped as he tried to extricate himself, managing to dig his elbow into the exact same spot the doorknob had hit.

Steve got to his feet, pushing hair out of his face. "Wow…" He shook his head. 

"Fucking hell, Steve." Chris groused once he could finally breath again. He dragged himself up onto the bed, holding his ribs. "I think you broke something."

"Let me see." 

Steve came toward him, but Chris pulled away. "Right, cause you're sober and shit." He pulled a hand through his hair and looked at the clock. It was after midnight. "Fuck. I need sleep. I've got a 6am call." Which meant he had to be on set no later than four thirty, especially now that he had bruises to hide. 

He crawled up the bed, rolling onto his other side and fussing until he found something close to comfortable. "You coming?"

Steve muttered something, pouting as he turned toward the bed. He sat, then laid on his side of the bed and in just a few seconds, he had rolled toward the center, one arm snaking over Chris' side to pull him close. Chris closed his eyes and let sleep come, knowing it wouldn't be enough.

 

Steve slept through Chris getting up and out the door, and Chris figured that it was safest to remove the alcohol completely, dumping the nearly empty bottle of Jack in the dumpster on his way to his car. His plan was to get in before everyone, slip into the makeup trailer to cover the red mark under his eye and then go to his trailer. If he was careful about where he got dressed, no one should even know that anything happened, that Steve had even come home with him.

He thought he pulled it off too, no one said anything all day. Not even when Aldis bumped him and he'd hissed through the pain radiating out from his ribs.

Steve was gone when he got home, off back to Vegas or LA, Chris honestly didn't know which. All in all, it hadn't been a bad weekend. Just a few weeks before Steve and the guys came back. 

He had decided nothing was broken, just bruised. The skin on his ribcage was livid with color, reds and purples, blacks and blues. His eye wasn't that bad, and it would fade inside a day or two.

Of course, he should have known it wasn't that simple.

He got through the next few days without any real incidents. Tim even invited him out to dinner on Wednesday, which was a serious step up, considering they'd been barely speaking.

It was Thursday before he realized he hadn't been as stealthy about the whole thing as he thought. He pulled up in front of his building to find Jensen waiting, and he wasn't alone.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Chris asked as he got out of the truck.

"Nice to see you too." Jensen responded, pulling him into a hug. "I had a couple days off, thought I'd come see how you were doing."

"Right." Chris flicked his eyes over to Jensen's companion.

"You remember Jeff, right?"

Chris raised an eyebrow. "We barely met, but sure." He headed for the stairs. "I'm only stopping in to pick up my gym bag. I forgot it this morning."

They followed him up the stairs and into the apartment, no one talking until after the door was shut. "Look, Jen, I appreciate what you're doing. But I'm fine."

Jensen nodded. "So you keep telling me."

"Maybe because it's true." His eyes swept the room, finding the gym bag on the coffee table.

"Chris, I'm trying to help." Jensen let his hand rest on Chris' arm. "Are you listening to me?"

"I hear you." Chris answered, though his tone was still tinged with anger.

"I don't think you do." 

Chris headed for the kitchen, but he was blocked by Jeff. "Tell me why he's here again?" Chris pulled his hand away and turned back to Jensen. "Seriously? I'm okay."

"You keep saying that."

"And no one is fucking listening."

"Maybe because no one believes you." Jeff said, his hand moving fast and catching Chris around the rib cage, fingers pressing in on the most recent bruises, making him hiss and freeze. "Maybe because your skin is always bruised and bandaged."

"Like you two have never had sex that got a little too rough?" Chris pulled away.

"Is that what this is?" Jeff grabbed his shirt and tugged it up to reveal the mottled purple and blue and black of his skin. "That don't look like sex to me."

"I've seen the bruises you leave on Jensen, so don't even start--"

Jeff growled and grabbed Chris, pulling him in close. "There's a fucking difference, boy, between consensual pain and the kind that does this to you."

Chris shoved Jeff off him, his eyes narrowing. "From where I stand, there ain't no difference at all."

"And that right there is the problem." Jeff said. "And the reason I'm here."

"I'm fine." Chris growled, starting to feel like a broken record.

"Yeah, I'd believe you more if I didn't know Steve was here." Jensen's eyes narrowed and Chris knew there wasn't going to be any denying it.

Chris closed his eyes, but didn't move. "Yeah, okay. He was here. One night, not even that. A couple of hours. We…had sex and slept and I went to work."

"Where is he now?" Jeff asked and Chris scowled at him.

"Vegas maybe? I don't know." Chris pulled a hand through his hair. 

"Are you going to tell me, or do I need to figure it out for myself?" Jensen asked, moving closer.

"What? Tell you what?"

"Steve isn't in Vegas, Chris. He's not in LA. No one has seen him since he left the club with you on Sunday."

Chris scowled at him. "What?" That didn't make sense. "He was gone when I got home. I assumed he got on a plane."

"Okay." Jensen pulled out his phone and stepped away.

Chris cursed and tried to imagine where Steve could have gone. It wasn't like Steve to just disappear. If he wasn't in LA or Vegas…Chris couldn't think about all the things that could have happened to him.

"Thanks." Jensen hung up the phone. "Aldis and a few friends are making a sweep of all the likely places. We'll find him."

 

It was almost two in the morning, but it wasn't like Chris was sleeping. He was pacing the floor. Steve was officially missing. They were ready to file a missing person's report and everything. 

"I really don't need a babysitter." Chris said finally, looking at Jeff and Tim who were sitting on his couch.

"I'm just waiting for Jensen." Jeff responded, deflecting. 

Jensen. Who was out looking for Steve. Where Chris should be. Tim stood and intercepted his next pass past the couch. "You should get some sleep."

His hand cupped to Chris' face, gentle and soft. "I know you're worried, but one of us will come wake you if we hear anything."

Chris wanted to lean into that hand and the comfort it offered, to let go and rest. He was so tired that worry was the only thing keeping him moving. Jeff's phone rang and Chris jumped away from Tim. 

"Yeah? Okay. Where? Give me twenty minutes." Jeff lurched up off the couch as he closed his phone. "That was Jensen. They found Steve. They've got him a place to dry out."

"Where is he?" Chris asked, ready to race out the door to be with Steve.

Jeff stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "He's fine. A little worn around the edges and incredibly drunk, but fine."

"I asked where he was, not how he was." Chris snapped. 

Tim touched his shoulder. "Don't snap at Jeff, he's only trying to help."

Chris bit his tongue and walked away. "I'm coming with you."

"No." 

Chris grabbed his jacket. "I wasn't asking."

Jeff sighed and looked to Tim who shrugged. "Fine, but don't blame me when Jensen smacks you upside the head."

Jeff lead the way to Tim's car and Tim settled in next to Chris in the back seat as they headed out. "He's okay though, right?" Chris asked after a few minutes, every scenario that played out in his head left Steve lost and dead and no one ever knew where.

"Jensen didn't say much. Said he was going to be fine."

Chris nodded and tried not to think about it. They pulled into the parking lot of a hotel and Jeff lead them inside. He knocked at a door and Jensen answered, looking worn and tired and like he was going to have a black eye come morning.

His eyes narrowed as they fell on Chris, but he didn't say anything. Chris moved past him and into the room, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Aldis stood against one wall, his arms crossed. Steve was laying askew across the nearer bed, but he lurched up when he saw Chris.

"Chrisss!" He smiled a dopey, drunken smile and dragged Chris into an embrace. He reeked of booze and smoke and dirt. "I miss you."

"He's past the angry drunk and into the happy drunk." Jensen said darkly.

"So I see." Chris pushed gently until Steve was sitting on the bed. "Where'd you find him?"

"Some dive down by the waterfront." Aldis responded, pushing himself up off the wall. "If you don't need me, I'm gonna go shower off the rot gut he spilled all over me and the vomit from the car ride here."

"Go…and thanks." Jensen sighed and looked to Chris. "I was trying to get him into the shower."

Chris nodded. "I can handle that, right Steve?"

Steve's hand petted over Chris' head. "My favorite Chris in the whole world."

"Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I am." Chris exhaled and focused on the need. There would be time for dealing with the fall out later. He slipped to one knee and worked Steve's shoes off, pulling back from the stench. Obviously he hadn't changed in a few days. "Okay Steve, let's get you cleaned up."

Jensen helped get him standing and into the bathroom. "I've got it." Chris murmured after Jensen got the water started.

"Yell if you need me." Jensen slipped out of the room and Chris toed off his shoes before helping Steve out of his disgustingly dirty jeans. 

"You know I got lost…I went out looking for you…"

"Yeah, and found a bar instead." Chris said.

"You weren't there."

"No, I was working." Chris responded. He pulled Steve's shirt off and then held aside the shower curtain. "In." He held Steve's elbow as he stepped in, holding on and guiding him, helping him brace against the wall while Chris finished undressing himself. He stepped in behind Steve and pulled the curtain closed.

"Wet."

"Water usually is." Chris pulled Steve directly under the spray. "Let's get you clean. You stink."

It took a few minutes to coordinate in the tight space, but Chris managed to get the soap into Steve's hands and get him using it. A few minutes later, Steve ducked his head under the spray, moaning. "God I'm wasted."

"Yes, you are." Chris agreed, reaching around him to turn the water off. "And now that you aren't going to disintegrate the sheets with your stench, it's time to sleep it off." He stepped out of the tub, reaching for Steve and helping him negotiate the step out. Once he had them both wrapped in fluffy white towels, Chris opened the door and helped Steve out into the room.

Tim was there, in a chair in a corner, but otherwise the room was empty. Tim stood. "They went to get ice for Jensen's face."

Chris nodded and helped Steve into the bed. Steve pawed at him pulling him down with him, but Chris pulled back. "Not tonight, man."

"Chris." Steve whined and reached for him, nearly knocking Chris' towel loose. 

Chris grabbed at the towel, looking up at Tim. "Steve. Stop."

If Tim weren't there, he'd likely give in, crawl in beside Steve and give him something to hold on to while he slept it off. But Tim was there and watching him. Steve moaned pitifully as Chris stepped out of his reach and pulled the blankets up over him. "You need sleep."

He stepped away, glancing at Tim again. "I'm just gonna…" He gestured at the bathroom, still holding the towel to him. By the time he was dressed, Jensen and Jeff were back.

Tim was standing, twirling his keys. "We have to be on set in two hours."

Chris shook his head. "I'm not leaving him."

Jensen put a hand on his arm. "He's just going to sleep, and be sick, and sleep some more. Jeff and I are working on finding him a spot in a rehab center here in town."

Steve was going to hate that. The thought must have showed on his face. "He tried it his way, and look where he ended up, five days drunk and looking like shit."

"Yeah, okay." Chris agreed, knowing it was probably the only shot they had of getting Steve back. "Yeah…just, don't take him anywhere without me?"

Jensen smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it. He's going to need to know that he has friends who want him to be better."

Chris followed Tim out, sulking and quiet. The city streets were quiet so early in the morning. Tim didn't talk, didn't try to make him talk. He just drove until they were pulling into a parking lot. "Seriously? Denny's?" Chris asked. 

"It's four thirty in the morning, and I'm hungry. You got another suggestion?"

Chris shook his head and followed Tim inside. They ate breakfast quietly until Chris cleared his throat. "Look, Tim…man, I should apologize. I've been…" He shook his head. 

"An idiot?" Tim supplied, his eyes piercing.

"Alright, fine. I still don't think it was as bad as you made it out, but I agree that Steve needs help…and that I should have seen it before now." Chris scrubbed at his face and stifled the yawn. He was exhausted…and had a long day ahead of him.

"Apology accepted." Tim sipped on his coffee and looked him in the eye. "You know I was only trying to help, right?"

Chris nodded. "You're a good friend Tim. I mean it."

"Good."

 

Steve was heavily hungover as they pulled into the parking lot of the rehab center, leaning forward, his head against the seat in front of him. He'd hardly said a thing since Chris caught up with him and Jensen.

Chris opened the door and climbed out, reaching in for Steve's hand. Steve slid toward him on the seat, but still didn't look at him. Chris squatted down beside him, taking his hands. "Hey."

Steve blinked and shook his head tightly. "Don't make me."

Chris cupped his face with one hand. "You promised you'd get better, get clean."

"Not like this. Not alone." Steve's eyes were bloodshot and desperate as they met his. "I don't think I can do it alone."

"Not alone." Chris said softly, kissing him lightly. "I'm here. And I'll be here to see you whenever they let me. You just need to get clean before you kill yourself…or me."

"You hate me." Steve pulled away from him, then stood, nearly shoving Chris to the ground.

"Never." Chris reached from him, but Steve was already moving away, shoulders slouched over. Pain stabbed through his stomach as Jensen joined him and together they moved through the doors. "Fuck." He could barely breathe, turning and sitting on the seat.

It was almost an hour before Jensen was back, his face grim. "Well, he's in."

"He's angry." Chris stood and moved to the passenger's seat as Jensen got behind the wheel. 

"Yeah, but that's mostly the booze, you know that."

"I know."

"And we can't force him to get clean, Chris, we can only help him as much as he lets us."

Chris nodded. He knew that too.

"But now that we've got him this far, let's talk about you."

"Me?" Chris frowned. "I'm okay, Jen."

"Are you?" Jensen turned in the seat. "Have you thought about how far you let this get? How much abuse you took?"

"Abuse?" Chris shook his head. "I never saw it that way."

"I know." Jensen's hand caressed over his head. "And that's the part that worries me."

If he let himself think about it, it would worry him too, but Chris had been avoiding thinking too much about it. And now he didn't need to. Steve was getting help for the alcohol problem and the only time he was violent was when he was drunk.

Jensen started the car and they drove away, and Chris felt his stomach twist as though he was betraying the man he loved. 

"Jeff and I are flying out in a few hours. Are you going to be okay?" Jensen asked as they parked outside his apartment.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"When you wrap up the season, you should come up and visit."

"Maybe, we'll see." He got out of the car, noticing Jeff was waiting. "I should thank you."

Jensen pulled him into a hug. "No need. You call me, anytime. Okay?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I will."

"You take care of yourself, or the next time I'll be calling your mother." Jensen said, though he smirked a little as he said it.

"Go on. I got a script to read."

He hated himself as they drove away. Even more once he got upstairs to his empty apartment. The look in Steve's eyes haunted him. He could almost hear the words Steve didn't say… _Don't leave me_ … _I love you_ …. _I hate you_ …

 

"The guys will be here tomorrow." Chris said, watching Steve's fingers pick at the table top in the visitor's room. He looked worn, tired. The pajama bottoms sagged on him. "Jason wants to see you."

"No." Steve shook his head, looking up, then away.

"Okay."

"You're going to do the show?"

Chris chewed on his lip. He'd agonized over it actually…and eventually Tim had convinced him not to cancel it. Chris had invited a friend out from Nashville to fill in for Steve.

"Yeah, I…Brian's going to play with us."

Steve made a face and stood. "Fucking Brian."

Chris had expected that and tried not to let it hurt. "Only until you're ready to come back, Steve."

"I'm ready now." His bare feet made almost no sound as he went to the window, leaning on the wall.

"I wish you were." Chris stood himself, moving close enough that he could touch him, but Steve pulled away from him. "I miss you."

"Why?" Steve's voice was bitter and cold. "You like getting shoved into walls and shit?"

"Steve--"

"Stop." He pushed past Chris, clearly angry. "Fuck off."

"No." Chris grabbed his hand and tugged. "I love you."

"Fine way you have to show it." He pulled away. "Why are you here? Come to taunt me with shit I can't have?"

"If I could make it all okay, I would."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Steve turned on him, crowding him up against the wall. Chris' heart sped up, his fist clenching like he was about to need to throw a punch.

The kiss was unexpected, and harsh, more teeth than lips, and Chris unclenched his fists, tried to relax under Steve's demanding mouth. He opened his lips for Steve's tongue, but Steve pulled away. 

"You should go." Steve inhaled deeply and shuffled back to his chair. 

Chris stopped beside him, his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You checked in here for a reason, Steve. Remember that. You told me you wanted to come home, be with me." He caressed over Steve's head. "Remember that, and remember that I love you." He pressed a kiss to the top of Steve's head and walked away. 

He was shaking once he got out of Steve's sight. They'd warned him to expect the anger, but somehow it had gotten under his skin. Chris blinked at the tears burning in the corners of his eyes and shook it off. It was part of the process. 

It had been two weeks since they'd found him drunk in some dive. Chris had barely slept, and it was starting to show. He was strung tight and hoping that having the guys in town, having a show to focus on would be enough to help him shake loose a little bit, and handle the emotional overload threatening to drag him under.

 

The show was admittedly not their best, but the crowd didn't seem to notice, aside from the grumbling he heard about how quickly he hid away downstairs after. He didn't hang out long beyond getting his shit off stage, exhaustion pulling on him. He ducked out as soon as he could, grabbing a cab to avoid the crush of people.

He had to work in the morning and he just wasn't in the mood to be gracious and social. He paid the cabbie and bounded up the stairs, fumbling with his keys. The door was unlocked though and as he pushed it open, he discovered why.

"Steve?"

Chris pushed the door closed as Steve lowered a bottle of tequila from his lips. "Miss me?"

"What are you doing here?" Chris crossed to him, reaching for the bottle. Steve evaded his hand.

"I remembered."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "You need to go back."

"No. Not going back. Not gonna. Gonna be here, with you. I remember."

The bottle was almost half gone. "Okay, Steve. You can stay. But only if you give me the bottle, okay?" His heart hammered at his ribs as he reached for the bottle again. Steve struck out at him with the hand wrapped around the bottle, catching Chris in the jaw and sending him stumbling backward.

His foot hit the coffee table and he went over backward, slamming his elbow and his head against the floor as the table crashed beneath him. His head exploded in red and pain as he rolled and tried to get up.

"You said you loved me." Steve said, his hand fisting in Chris' hair and yanking.

Chris climbed to his feet. "I do, Steve. I love you. And I don't want to hurt you…or you to hurt me." He hit Steve's arm just hard enough to get him to let go. "Now, how about you share a little?"

Steve lifted the bottle, swallowing hard before shaking his head. "Mine."

Chris touched the throbbing spot of pain on the back of his head, not surprised when his fingers came back bloody. He reached for his phone. It was obvious he wasn't going to handle this alone.

He hesitated once it was in his hand, not sure who to call. Steve growled at him and knocked the phone away, sending it skittering across the floor. "You're mine too. No calling in that mother-fucking no-good shithead friend. He don't get to fuck you any more."

"I've told you, Steve, no one but you, not in a long, long time."

Steve swung at him and Chris managed to block the blow, but it sent him skittering sideways into the wall. Before he could get turned around, a hard punch landed against his ribs. He covered up, turned into the next punch and shoved Steve back, getting himself off the wall.

"I don't want to hurt you." His voice sounded strange, the words a little slurred. 

"Too late for that. You left me there. You left me." Steve charged at him and Chris couldn't get out of the way, tripping over debris from the broken table as Steve's shoulder dug into his chest and they went rolling into the couch, tipping it over and dumping them to the floor. There was a sickening crunch as Chris' arm tangled under him, followed by searing pain.

The bottle of tequila shattered. Chris' head was reeling, his eyes not focusing as Steve's hands rolled him, pulling at his clothes. "Steve…stop."

"Gonna show you…mine…"

Chris landed on his stomach, his jeans partially down. He tried to pull himself from under Steve, but his right wrist at least was broken, already purpling and swelling and Steve was kneeling on his left leg, pinning him in place.

"Steve, just stop. Okay. Just stop. Not like this." Panic thrummed through him as he struggled to get away, get turned over, anything to stop Steve. "Fuck." He got a little leverage and pulled himself out from under, putting a foot on Steve's chest and shoving before scrambling to get to his feet.

He pulled his jeans up, holding them with his uninjured hand as he turned to find Steve coming at him again. "Steve!" 

They slammed into the wall beside the shelving unit that was partially filled with the books and movies Chris had acquired since he'd gotten to Portland. Chris felt something in his hip pop as Steve fell against him and pulled away, letting Chris fall. Steve was screaming and Chris just covered his head to protect it as Steve emptied the shelves, throwing books and DVDs at him.

Suddenly, Chris was aware that it was quiet. He was alone. He must have passed out or zoned out from the pain. There was no sound to indicate Steve was anywhere in the area. 

He was afraid to move, his body unsure of the amount of damage, his head ringing. He didn't understand how it could happen so fast, how he could end up like this. He didn't know where Steve had gone, or why.

He used his uninjured hand to push himself up, shaking with the pain echoing through his hip and head and chest. He sat so his back was against the wall, huddled in on himself, sitting amidst the carnage of Steve's rampage.

He stared at the ruins around him, numb down to his center. There was little left to the room that wasn't destroyed. Steve had to have raged long after Chris passed out.

He knew he should move, should get up and clean up, should do...something, but he couldn't. This time it wasn't just bruises, easy to cover, easy to hide and ignore. He was fairly certain his wrist was broken and at least one rib. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with his hip but the pain was enough to make him not try to move any more just yet.

He could see the phone, but it was so far out of his reach. He closed his eyes, and prayed for the strength to move. He had to get help, had to call someone. All he could manage to do for the moment though was to give in to the pain and let the darkness find him again.

 

The phone rang and pulled him up out of a dream with fast cars and dynamite and Tim reached for it blindly, rubbing at his eyes before glancing at the clock. It was almost 3:30 in the morning. He flipped open the phone, squinting in the brightness of the display. 

He sat up as he saw the caller ID, already half way out of bed. "Chris?"

At first he wasn't sure anyone was even there. "Chris, can you hear me?"

There was a wet breathing sound, raspy. "T-tim. I…need…"

He was already pulling pants on over his boxers and shoving his feet into shoes. "Chris, tell me what's wrong."

"Could you…come…"

"Are you hurt?" Tim didn't like the little bit he could hear. "What happened?"

"Steve." Chris gasped and Tim headed for his keys. "Steve was here."

"How bad is it?" 

"Don't know…"

It was quiet for way too long. "Chris, are you there?"

"Cold…dark. Tim?"

"I'm on my way, Chris. Just talk to me. Don't go to sleep."

"Tired."

"I know. I do, but it sounds like you've got a concussion. You can't go to sleep until I get there, okay?" 

He knew he needed to call an ambulance, get help on its way to him but he didn't want to hang up on Chris. "Is he still there, Chris?"

"Gone…he's gone."

"Okay…keep talking to me, okay?" The way Chris was breathing didn't sound very good at all and his words were slurring together. Tim found his car keys and headed for the door. "I'm just a few minutes away. Keep talking."

Chris was too quiet, all Tim could hear was the rattling of his breathing. "Chris, tell me what happened."

He got the car started and pulled out, thanking whatever god was listening that there was so little traffic at this hour. "Come on Chris, don't go to sleep."

"He…here when I got…back. Angry."

"Steve was angry?" Tim suspected that was very true, what little he'd seen of the man. He'd told Jensen that putting him in rehab here in Portland was the wrong idea. They needed to get him away from Chris, or neither one of them was going to survive it. "Did you fight?"

Chris made a sound that might have been laughter any other time. "Wasn't much of one." 

"I'm almost there Chris. Tell me what he said."

"Nothing…rambled about…said he loved me…"

Tim pulled to a stop in front of the building, throwing the parking brake on and turning off the car. "Okay, I'm here Chris. Just hold on."

He took the stairs two at a time, stopping suddenly in front of his door. It was partially open and he could smell the alcohol through it. He pushed it open, half expecting Steve to come flying out of the shadows.

The room was dark and he felt for the light switch. The lights came on to show him a scene of destruction. Barely any furniture was left standing. "Chris?" 

There was a groan from the other side of the couch and Tim picked his way around the remains of the coffee table. He stopped dead when he found Chris, leaning against the wall amidst the carnage.

"That bad?" Chris said with a grimace, looking up at him through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"Okay….one thing at a time." Tim squatted beside him. "Can you tell me what hurts?"

"Everything." His eye wasn't maintaining focus and the blood on his neck and shoulder was probably an indication of a serious head injury.

"Okay, I'm going to have to call an ambulance." Which meant police. He flipped his phone opened and dialed, breathing a little easier when the operator answered. He relayed the essential information while keeping an eye on Chris who was starting to list to the side. "Hey, hey…stay with me."

"Cold."

Tim looked around, his eyes landing on the blanket that he assumed had been on the couch. He yanked it free and draped it over Chris. "Paramedics are on their way, okay? Just hold on." 

He stood and pushed some of the mess out of the way to make room for them to get in. He heard the sirens, then feet on the stairs and he went where he could be seen through the open door to wave them in. 

Tim stayed out of the way as they assessed the extent of the injuries. "Okay, let's take it slow." 

Chris made a sound that was all anguish as they straightened his legs and eased him up enough to get him on the gurney. "I'll be right behind you." Tim assured him when he saw Chris looking for him. 

He locked up the apartment and followed the EMTs down the stairs. There were a million phone calls to make, but none of them the kind he wanted to make for at least a few hours. He followed the ambulance, wishing he'd been wrong. Wishing Jensen had been right. 

There were going to be police reports and Chris might never forgive him if he told the truth, but it was clear that that was exactly what he had to do. Steve was not going to get sober on his own. And Chris was never going to be the one to force the issue.

That left it to him to do. 

 

 

Tim was at Chris' apartment, putting together a bag of things he would need when he heard the door. He shoved a few more pairs of socks into the bag he'd been packing and left the bedroom. 

Steve looked like shit, hungover at best, half way to drunk again at worse and for a long moment after he got inside he didn't even seem to realize he wasn't alone. Not until Tim cleared his throat.

Then Steve turned, looking over his sunglasses with blood shot eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm here to give you a message. From Christian."

Steve frowned at him, staggering a little. "Where is he?"

"Not here." Tim said. He straightened his coat and looked Steve in the eye. "You're lucky he isn't dead."

"What..." Steve looked around them as if just seeing the mess for the first time. "What happened?"

"If you honestly don't know the answer to that, Steve, I suggest you get really sober and think about it."

He headed for the door and Steve stumbled out of his way. "Is he okay?"

Tim stopped at the door. "No, Steve. He isn't. You broke his wrist, three ribs, gave him a concussion and dislocated his hip."

Steve shook his head in denial. "No...no...he was fine...he was...I don't remember..."

Tim swallowed. "You don't remember a lot. He said you were drunk and went into a rage. Look around you."

Steve shook his head again, harder, trying to deny the evidence. 

"Get cleaned up. Stay away from Christian." Tim left him standing there in the wreckage, still trying to remember what had happened. Steve wasn't his concern. Chris was his friend, and he would do whatever it took to keep him safe.

 

He was on set when it hit him. Well, actually, it was the flying two by four that hit him, slamming into his jaw and knocking him backwards with enough force that he saw stars for a moment and tears welled in his eyes.

He rolled to his side, tucked up tight, covered his neck and head and his stomach. 

Like he was expecting the next punch.

"Oh, god, I am so sorry, Chris." 

He could hear the stunt coordinator apologizing, could feel his hand on his shoulder. Chris exhaled slowly and uncurled himself. "I'm okay." He held on to his jaw and let Aldis help him up.

A PA ran up with an ice pack and the director gave them five minutes to see if Chris was going to need anything while they re-set the shot. 

Tim was waiting by his chair, hovering. He'd been hovering a lot lately, ever since Chris had broken down and called him for help. He was still nursing a lot of bruises. His ribs were still bandaged and his wrist and hand were in a cast. But that wasn't the hard part.

It had been almost three weeks. Steve was gone.

The season was almost done, and soon Chris would fly back to LA, maybe out to Nashville to finish up a few things on the album. He really should go home and see his Mama for a few days and Jensen had asked him up to Vancouver for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet.

He needed a few weeks to get his head straight, needed to get free of the cast and bandages before he could face his mother, and her all knowing eye. He needed time to heal the tear in his heart that hurt worse than the broken wrist or ribs.

Steve had showed up on set the day he got back. He looked like hell, promising he'd do better, that he hadn't had a drop since that night, that he was going to do it right. Chris wanted to believe him, wanted to tell him it would all be okay and that he still loved him.

But what Chris said that day was "No."

The look of betrayal on Steve's face when Chris said it...when Chris stood there, Tim and Aldis at his back and told Steve to go...the betrayal, the loss, the uncertainty and disbelief in his eyes…

Chris thought that maybe that was what hurt the most...


End file.
